One Shots
by cable69
Summary: A collection of unrelated one-shots. Each chapter is a short story.
1. The Lost Aspect

Written for a kink meme prompt, which is as follows (if people are uninterested in spoilers, move along):

_Because there is not enough genius!Kirk. An angry priestess (or whatever cliche'd aggrieved Kirksex-victim) completely strips Kirk of all his sexual impulses. Suddenly Kirk is super-genius smart and nice and sensitive and not-an-ass and the crew has much rejoicing. Then Kirk in his disgustingly genius smartyness starts stepping on toes when he shows he's fully capable of running the whole ship all by his nerdy lonesome, and it gets so bad that the crew runs back to the priestess (or etc aggrieved party) and begs her(/him/it/they/???) to put his perviness back plzkthankstobemakingkirklessannoying. Gen is cool, especially since Kirk has no sex-drive, but K/S makes this one swoooon. Specific prompt is specific..._

OP anon, you rule for coming up with such a fun prompt! I had fun writing it and I hope you enjoy.

x

**The Lost Aspect**

x

They were about to send a search party down to the planet when Kirk signaled to Scotty that he was ready to be beamed up, which was something of a shock, since the crew of the _Enterprise_ had spent the last nineteen point eight eight four hours (according to Spock) worrying about what had happened to their captain's communicator and, more importantly, their captain. Instead of debating the point, Scotty beamed Kirk up. Spock, McCoy, and Uhura met their captain in the transporter room.

"Good morning," said Kirk, materializing cheerfully unharmed. He was immediately ambushed by his bear of a chief medical officer.

"Hold still," growled McCoy, running a tricorder over him and frowning at the readings he received. "You're fine. What happened?"

Spock cleared his throat and McCoy rolled his eyes, backing away to let Spock do his job. Spock approached Kirk, concern evident in his eyes. "Captain, you were supposed to check in at twenty two forty five last night. When we attempted to reach you by communicator, we could not locate your signal and were unable to establish contact with you. What occurred on the planet's surface to prevent us from speaking with you?"

Kirk smiled widely at his boyfriend, and to everybody's total shock, pecked him on the lips. Spock took on the basic demeanor of an iceberg. Kirk had never been so _obvious_ before. The bridge crew knew about their relationship, but it wasn't like the captain flaunted it (much).

"I'm glad you missed me," said Kirk sweetly. "And you too, guys." He approached McCoy and hugged him tightly. McCoy, too shocked to speak, stood still as a statue while Kirk squeezed him. Kirk proceeded to hug Uhura and Scotty in much the same manner.

Spock had recovered slightly by the time Kirk was finished with the others.

"Captain, are you feeling… normal?"

"I feel wonderful," said Kirk buoyantly. "I'm sorry you guys were worrying about me. See, I signed the treaty and sent Sulu and Riley back up, which you know, but then got to talking with this really interesting woman—" Everybody could see where this was going. "—who turned out to be a priestess of chastity—" Or not? "—so, you know me, I convinced her to reconsider her vows—" Ah, there it was. "—but she didn't take very well to that idea, and next thing I knew, I was tied to an altar surrounded by five dancing gibbons and a lot of smoke and that priestess. She was chanting in this weird language, and I blacked out, and when I woke up I was in the field you beamed me up from."

"Surely one of the conditions of y'all's non-monogamy is that shit like this doesn't happen," McCoy muttered to Spock. Spock ignored him, approaching Kirk once more.

"Captain, could you perhaps tell us more about the nature of this ritual she performed, or speculate on its effects?"

"Oh, I know what it was meant for," said Kirk, smiling brilliantly. "It took away my sex drive. Now, I'm going to check in at the bridge and go to bed."

With that, he left the transporter room. Spock, looking as if he'd swallowed a fly on accident, followed him stiffly.

McCoy couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. Eventually, he started crying, at which point Uhura and Scotty escorted him to his quarters and treated him with alcohol.

"I'm sorry," McCoy wheezed eventually, clutching his glass of scotch. "It's just—Jim without a sex drive?" He burst into fresh peals of laughter.

x

Back in their bedroom, Spock was floored.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, 'No, thanks,'" said Kirk, yawning widely. "I think I'll just turn in. I had a long day, you know."

"But—_Jim_—"

"What is it?"

"In the four years, two months, and seventeen days I have known you, you have never once, under normal circumstances, refused the sexual advances of… anything."

"Don't you mean any_one_?"

"Beta IV."

"Listen, just because it had tentacles…"

"It was non-sentient, Jim."

"You can't say it didn't have intelligence, it knew exactly where to put—"

"_What I am trying to say_ is that I will now escort you to sickbay."

"Just because I'm tired? Come on! I'm fine!"

"Fine is unacceptable. Fine has varying definitions. Come with me, please."

It was no use arguing with Spock; he had gone into Competent First Officer mode. Kirk allowed himself to be dragged down to McCoy's, who went puce when Spock, in his characteristically blunt manner, described the exact nature of the problem.

"Not sure what I can do for you, Spock," said McCoy, messing with his instruments and avoiding Spock's gaze. "If you've, uh, tried everythin' you can, and still aren't… gettin' a response, well, that's between the two of you."

Spock eyed Kirk, who was kicking his heels from the edge of the biobed. "I have not attempted every option available," Spock said slowly.

"_Aaand_ that's about all I can take," said McCoy, pushing Kirk off of the bed and shoving him and Spock in the direction of the exit. "If you tell me anythin' else about your sex life I will throw up right here and now. Out."

Back in their room, thirty minutes later, Spock gave up and went to bed. Kirk was asleep by the time Spock turned the lights off. Spock took longer than usual to disappear into dreams. He hadn't realized how much he missed the warmth of Kirk's arms.

x

Kirk's shift began four hours before Spock's. Kirk marched onto the bridge looking like a new man. His uniform was fresh, his posture was perfect, and his smile was almost disturbingly wide.

"Good morning, captain," the bridge crew chorused sleepily.

"Good morning!" Kirk cried, bounding over to the science station. "Status report, Mr. Chekov."

"Mr. Scott is reporting a ten percent drop in power, keptin," said Chekov, looking concerned. "He blames the solar winds near the Laurwentian system."

"Excellent! Tell him to compensate by shifting the matter-antimatter power levels to forty four hPs and turning off the thermoregulator in engine three."

Chekov blinked at Kirk. "We had not considered that option, keptin," he said slowly. "I will inform Mr. Scott of your solution to the problem."

"Sounds _wonderful_. Uhura, anything from Starfleet?"

"Our orders to explore fifth planet of Volen III have been upgraded to priority. A Klingon message expressing interest in the planet was intercepted and translated yesterday and authenticated early this morning."

"Lay in a course for—" Kirk glanced at the helm. Sulu was helping Lieutenant Glen at the engineering panel. "I'll do it."

Everybody watched as Kirk skipped down to the helm and tapped rapidly at the controls. Sulu, who had started towards his station, had widened his eyes to the point that they looked like they were going to pop.

Kirk backed away and plopped into his chair, looking preoccupied. Sulu approached the helm.

"Captain," Sulu said slowly, eyes running over the instruments. "You plotted a course around Gryfon, why—oh. _Oh_."

"Yes, the gravitational pull from the Gryfon system's third sun should slip us through the eddies smoothly. We'll also sneak past that pesky neutral zone the Romulans set up near Dasil. And if needed, we can beam up some supplies when we pass Ouray VII."

"And you cut the travel time down from a day and a half to—twenty three hours."

"We can shave another, say, seven hours off that if you'll tell Scotty to shift the nacelle heatsource into the dilithium crystal chamber," said Kirk to Uhura. "That panel should be easy to move. That way we can use the residual heat to insulate the crystals, increasing their output."

"Yes, sir," said Uhura, reaching for inter-ship communications.

Chekov looked like he was about to object.

"What is it, ensign?" said Kirk.

"Sir, the power lines—"

"Last time the _Enterprise_ was in for repairs, Spock had them reroute the main lines through some new Jeffries tubes," said Kirk. "Don't worry about it."

Chekov closed his mouth. Surreptitiously, he pulled up the ship's blueprints on the science station's screen. The captain was right.

Scotty was sounding more and more skeptical each time the bridge hailed him to give another odd order about increasing power efficiency, especially considering how well those orders were working out.

"Have we hired a new engineer ah don't know about?" he said crossly to Uhura. "It's nice that somebody's orderin' all this work t' be done, but how do they know th' ship so well?"

"It's the captain," said Uhura quietly. "He's being… oddly intelligent."

"He's a smart man, but he can't be th' one makin' all of these changes. _Ah_ didn't even know the heatsource panel was portable."

"I assure you, Kirk is the one giving these orders," said Uhura. "You really ought to come to the bridge at some point. He's giving Sulu a shoulder massage."

"_What_?"

"I forgot to mention, he's also being very… _nice_."

By the time Spock got to the bridge, the crew was almost blissfully relaxed. Kirk had fetched them coffee and tea from the closest replicator and had talked to each of them for about thirty minutes about their most pressing personal problems. Scotty, who had arrived from the engine room, was sprawled in his seat at the engineering panel looking like Christmas had come early. Uhura's nails were shiny with a new layer of polish; Kirk had proved himself to be quite the manicurist, and he hadn't even hit on her while he was painting her fingers. Chekov and Sulu, who had been fighting until Kirk had sat them down and talked them kindly through their issues, were looking like they wanted to leave the bridge and go resolve some more issues, privately.

The only thing that irritated them was that Kirk was insisting on helping them with their jobs, which meant basically that he would press the buttons and do the calculations for them, leaving them with little to work on. But they didn't mind that badly; they were all tired from staying up two nights previously worrying about Kirk being stranded planetside.

They straightened up when Spock walked in. Kirk glanced up from the weapons panel to smile at him. Spock gave him the eyebrow and settled down at the science station. Kirk waltzed over to him.

"Good morning, dearest! Did you sleep good?"

"I believe the correct grammar would be, 'Did you sleep _well_,' and one cannot apply moral values to an action according to accepted modern philosophy," said Spock, peering into the deck tricorder. "However, to answer your question, I did not sleep _well_."

"I'm sorry, how come?"

"I would prefer not to discuss—what are you doing?"

Spock had wrapped his hand around Kirk's outstretched wrist. Kirk had been reaching for one of Spock's instruments.

"I was just going to check the atmospheric readings," said Kirk innocently.

"Since there is no current emergency, you may stay clear of my station," said Spock firmly, moving Kirk back a foot. "Thank you for your concern, but as the science officer, I am more than capable of monitoring atmospheric readings myself."

"Sorry to offend," said Kirk, sounding genuinely apologetic. It suddenly occurred to Spock that Kirk had not actually tried to irritate him since he had returned from the planet. The thought made Spock strangely sad.

Kirk was the same for the rest of the day. That night, Spock tried even harder to talk Kirk into sex, but Kirk simply wasn't interested. He scrambled out Spock's arms and offered to do _anything_ else with him—3D chess, math games, a movie—but Spock wasn't in the mood. He excused himself and went to sleep, fitfully. Kirk stayed up late doing calculus for fun.

The next day, the bridge crew were less amused by Kirk's helpfulness. Whenever their backs were turned Kirk was at their station, doing their assigned tasks for the next few hours, leaving them with almost no work. He had a hard time getting to Spock's panel, but he managed nonetheless, resorting to subterfuge if necessary, depriving Spock of work and leaving his first officer even more frustrated than usual.

Kirk took Spock, McCoy, Sulu, and two red-shirted security guards to the surface of the fifth planet of Volen III. The world turned out to be rich in aluminum, which Kirk somehow knew just by glancing around, telling Spock what was going on even before Spock had gotten a tricorder reading. When they were attacked suddenly by natives, Kirk made the security personel redundant by stunning all of their attackers before the guards could even unholster their weapons. When another attack came, injuring Lieutenant Browning, Kirk drove the abandoned hovercar they found on the planet's surface, depriving Sulu of a job. He even tended to the Lieutenant's wounds, patching the woman up better than McCoy was willing to admit.

When they beamed back, Spock drew McCoy and Sulu aside while Kirk went back to the bridge, still bubbling with energy.

"Most uncharacteristic, do you not agree?" Spock said pointedly to McCoy, who was still smarting over Kirk's handling of the injured guard.

"Alright, fine, I agree," said McCoy, scowling. "I can't believe I'm not arguin' with you, but he _is_ bein'—hell, I don't even know _know_ what he's bein'."

"He is totally unhindered by sexual impulses," said Sulu. "This is clearly the Kirk we would have had if he hadn't been… _Kirk_."

"He is extremely efficient, intelligent, and capable," said Spock slowly, as if he were trying to convince himself. "There is no true reason to worry about his condition."

"But he's _damn_ annoyin'," said McCoy. "Doin' everybody's job like that, and bein' so—"

"_Nice_," said Sulu.

McCoy nodded in agreement. "Exactly. He's considerate and thoughtful. He actually had a conversation with one of my nurses the other day that wasn't centered on the joining of their anatomy."

"Disturbing," said Spock quietly.

"We're _not_ talkin' about _your_ problem," said McCoy dangerously to Spock. Sulu, catching on, grinned.

"Kirk has been unremarkable in bed, then?" Sulu said to Spock, ignoring McCoy's splutters.

"The captain has not—we have not—" Spock's mouth twisted.

"At _all_? Since he got back?" said Sulu, eyes wide.

"Yes," said Spock shortly.

Sulu whistled. "We've really got a problem, then," he said. "I think we should go back to the planet with the priestess."

"But that's half the quadrant away," said McCoy.

"You exaggerate," said Spock. "I agree with Sulu. The captain must be returned to his original state." He paused. "For the sake of the crew."

Sulu patted Spock's shoulder sympathetically. "I know the feeling," he said compassionately. Spock pretended like he didn't understand, but Sulu didn't mind.

x

Spock tried to talk to Kirk about returning to the priestesses' planet, but Kirk would have none of it. He explained that the removal of his sex drive had made him a better person in many ways. He was practical, helpful, and controlled, now. Spock was unable to find fault with his logic, but he tried, in his particular way, to describe exactly what it was that he _missed_, but the words would not come out right and Kirk just pecked him on the cheek and patted his shoulder.

"Your actions just now, Jim," said Spock, still attempting to voice his thoughts. "You are not as passionate as usual, not as—human."

Kirk laughed. "That doesn't make any sense, dear," he said. Scotty hailed him and he turned to the intercom on the wall.

"I know," said Spock half to himself. "That is the point."

x

"I think we're going to have to involve Starfleet," said Uhura. The bridge crew was meeting without Kirk to discuss the situation.

"How will they help?" said Chekov.

"They won't," said Uhura. "Here's my idea."

Uhura's plan was simple to the point of brilliance. They would let a crybaby loose, without Kirk's knowledge (although it would be very hard for him not to notice, not with his new level of attention to detail). Once the crybaby started broadcasting on Federation frequency (which Uhura could easily hook up, since she knew all of their codes), Kirk would have to follow its instructions. They would request the return of the _Enterprise_ to the planet, and once there, they could arrange a meeting with the priestess and hopefully convince her to restore Kirk's sex drive.

To everybody's shock, the plan worked. Kirk evidently got most of his creative thinking from his sex drive (which surprised everybody but Spock, who turned an interesting shade of green when Scotty pointed this out). They had been careful to let none of their preparations show in the mechanical log of the ship. They compensated for the air lost in the air lock when the crybaby was released by scheduling a shuttle drill at around the same time, and Scotty worked on the satellite in his workshop, from which he always made odd requests for strange materials. So, a day later, Kirk responded to a call from Starfleet requesting a return to the planet to collect some mineral samples they hadn't thought to ask for the first time around. Kirk acquiesced, but took Spock aside once they had some free time on the bridge.

"Just because we're going back doesn't mean you can try to change me again," said Kirk sternly. "If I thought you capable of it, I'd accuse you of setting this up, but the Federation scientists really do need these samples. And you're basically incapable of subterfuge, aren't you?"

Spock, whose help had not been required in the creation of the crybaby, was able to affirm his innocence. Kirk patted him on the shoulder again and went back to the captain's chair. Spock, nearly gritting his teeth, returned to the science station and glared at his instruments for a while.

Kirk, Scotty, Chekov, and two geologists beamed down to the planet to hunt for the required mineral samples. Spock estimated that they would take between three to five and a half hours to finish the mission. Uhura had made sure that the many samples the Federation requested would not be easy to obtain. Meanwhile, Spock, leading McCoy and Uhura (Sulu had the conn), beamed down to the city to find the priestess, whom Uhura had been unable to contact from their orbit.

After asking directions from the helpful natives, they found her in a medium-sized gray granite temple near the city center. It was mid afternoon, evidently an unpopular time for worshipers, because the temple was empty.

The priestess rose from a carved pedestal as Spock crossed the threshold. She was Kirk's type exactly: brilliant blond hair, an hourglass figure, bright, hazel eyes, and full lips. McCoy muttered something about wasted potential as a goddamn priestess of chastity and Uhura elbowed him in the side. He doubled over, wheezing unattractively.

"Can I help you?" said the priestess to Spock in heavily accented Standard. "You are not a native to my planet. Since you are Vulcan, I can understand your need to worship in the temple of Alikash, who forgives the voracious sexual appetite."

"I am content with my sexual appetites, madam," said Spock diplomatically. "In fact, my contentment with my sexual appetites is what brings me here today." McCoy made retching noises in the background and Uhura elbowed him again. "You have recently removed the sex drive of the captain of my starship, the _Enterprise_. I come to request its return."

"This I cannot grant," said the priestess. "First, your captain—James Kirk, whom I _certainly_ remember—is not present to receive his lost aspect. Second, I see no reason for it to be returned to him at all."

"We can make his presence possible," said Spock. "My reply to your second objection is less simple. I submit that you have done wrong by removing his sexual impulses. He has changed drastically—"

"But for the better."

"Not entirely," said Spock. "While I cannot deny that he is sharper, more intelligent and helpful now, he is also—annoying. He does all of our jobs and leaves us with no reason to specialize. He has lost his creative spark, which made him the outstanding captain he was. And, while he pays more attention to the morale of individual crew members, he is less capable of handling larger numbers of people." (Spock had noticed this in the dining room the other day, when Kirk had seemed slightly overwhelmed by the number of crew members who wanted to talk to him. He had not been surprised that Kirk's ability to multitask was connected with his sex drive, since he had experienced Kirk's ability to multitask sexually first… hand.) "The research I have done on your god Alikash suggests that she only interferes directly with sexual impulses when they cause negative conflict and flow. You have broken her vow of interference for what I assume must a personal drive for revenge."

The priestess looked taken aback, which was how most people looked after Spock got through unloading that long of a speech on them.

"Captain Kirk's sex drive _has_ caused negative conflict and flow," snapped the priestess, hazel eyes flashing. "I was unable to fulfill my duties as Alikash's priestess for two days since I had to go through a purification ritual after breaking my vows. And I could read in the snippets of his mind I received during the removal ritual that his sexual appetite has caused problems before—_severe_ ones. Am I correct?"

"You are, but the positive aspects of his sexuality outweigh the negative ones," said Spock. "You will make this man loose his career. His crew—my crew—is extremely annoyed with him. Starfleet would not take kindly to an interfering captain, one who does not know where his job stops and others begin."

"Then he deserves to loose it," said the priestess viciously. She looked slightly mad now, as if she were about to fly to pieces. "He—he made me loose my _control!_"

Spock moved forwards and put a hand on the priestesses' shoulder. Breathing heavily, she gazed up at him. He recognized the hate in the droop of her eyelids.

"I know," he said quietly. "He made me loose my control too. But that is his gift, that he unlocks a part of you that you did not know you possessed. His methods may not be… normal, nor do they always work, but when they do, they create incredible results. This crew is considered one of the best in Starfleet, all because of him. I beg of you, return his aspect, as you call it. He needs it. We need it. I need it."

The priestess finally looked convinced. She drew back from Spock, bent, and lit a stick of incense. "Take this," she said, holding it out to him. "Sacrifice to Alikash, who will require a week of chastity from you in payment. Then bring me your captain and I will return his lost aspect."

Spock nodded, took the incense, and approached the altar.

x

The ten-man security detail Spock requested to capture Kirk was barely successful. Spock had asked them not to stun him, if possible, but they had to, and McCoy had to treat all of them for injuries. Spock and the priestess made sure Kirk was tightly tied to the altar before the priestess waved wakeflower under his nose to revive him. Kirk was still woozy when the ceremony began.

It did not take long. When the smoke had cleared, the priestess cut Kirk's bonds with a ceremonial knife and allowed him to be escorted from her temple. Spock turned back to her near the entrance and bowed, as the natives did on this planet. She bowed back stiffly, but smiled slightly.

Kirk was unsteady on his feet. They brought him to sickbay, where McCoy did a complete physical. He was ready to establish that Kirk was in peak condition, but still needed the blood sample from the lab. Muttering about slow techs, he stalked down to collect it, leaving Kirk and Spock alone.

"I don't really remember anything very well," said Kirk slowly. "It all seems hazy, like only some of me was there."

"Much of you was gone," said Spock.

"It's weird that my sex drive is so important," said Kirk, smiling. A nurse walked by and Kirk watched her closely, eyes fixed on her backside. Spock sighed. Kirk looked up at his first officer.

"I remember you being angrier with me than everybody else," he said.

"I was not angry," said Spock automatically. "That would preclude my having—"

"Emotions," said Kirk. "Give it up, won't you? Of course you've got emotions." A light came into his eyes and he grabbed Spock's hand. "I could—convince you. We could take some time off and head back to the room when Bones tells me I'm fit for duty. He'll have medically insured that I'm fit for other things, too."

Spock felt his face grow green. "I'm afraid that in order to provide payment to the priestess, I was forced to take a vow of chastity that lasts for a week."

Kirk went pale. "A—a week? Seven _days_?" Spock nodded grimly. "Dear god," said Kirk faintly. "I don't know if I can last that long."

Spock was confused. "You do not have to. I am not your only sexual partner."

Kirk wouldn't look him in the eye. "Well, actually, you have been for quite a while," he said, sounding slightly ashamed. "Haven't slept with anybody else since Regulus Delta. Didn't feel like it. You're the only man I need. The priestess—well—she was drunk, and I encouraged her to sleep with this guy she really liked, and it turned out that the guy was an asshole so I sort of rescued her and when she woke up she thought she'd slept with me and things went downhill from there."

"Regulus Delta—we visited that planet eight months ago," said Spock.

"Yeah," said Kirk, squirming. "Sorry I didn't tell you. I have a reputation to keep up, you—_mmph!_"

Spock had kissed him. Ignoring Kirk's protests, Spock hefted him off of the biobed and into his arms. McCoy appeared at the door and nearly dropped his clipboard when Spock swept by him.

"I trust the captain's blood readings are normal?" said Spock calmly.

"Uh," said McCoy, eyes huge. "Yeah…"

"Excellent. Please inform Lieutenant Uhura that the captain and I will be on the bridge in approximately forty five minutes, and that we are not to be disturbed until then." He looked down at Kirk and, eyebrow slightly raised, continued: "I have a very important vow to break."

x


	2. Making Love and War

Written for a kink meme prompt, which is as follows:

_Seeing this picture and seeing this video _[ff won't let post the links cuz it's a bitch (that's right, fanfiction dot net, you're a bitch); they're Chris Pine in _Bottle Rocket_ (Google. It.) and a clip from the Tony's with a piece from the musical _Hair_.]_ made me decide on one thing---_Kirk used to be a hippie!_ I thought it would be interesting (and fucking hilarious) to see just what Starfleet has to say about this (military and hippies don't exactly have a loving relationship, although Kirk swears that with him it was hate AND love put together.)_

I wasn't sure if you wanted a pairing, OP, so I made it gen just in case. I have no idea what the timeline of this is, it's a third _ST:XI _and a third _TOS_ and a third bs. Maybe more than a third of the last. For everybody who doesn't know: LSD: lysergic acid diethylamide, a psychedelic drug. LDS: Latter Day Saints, what Mormons call themselves. (Yes, it is a _Voyage Home_ reference.) Hope it's cracky enough!

x

**Making Love and War**

x

They were gathered in Kirk's room, toasting his birthday. Scotty had brought his best scotch to the celebration, and everybody but Spock was tossing their glass back cheerfully. Uhura, Chekov, Sulu, and McCoy were there, selflessly helping Kirk with the alcohol.

Talking and laughing, they settled on various chairs and beds while Kirk popped a bottle of champagne. McCoy put in an album of the pictures Chekov had taken at during various missions. There was a great picture of Sulu, clearly drunk, leaning heavily on Nurse Chapel and laughing while she cocked a sedative, glaring at him. They had so much fun looking at those pictures that everybody insisted Kirk show some more, so he loaded a few old photo albums and set the slideshow.

At first, they were just pictures of Kirk as a fluffy-haired kid, with his family back in Iowa. Jim grinning on a horse, age five. Jim and his brother Sam on bikes, age seven. Winona holding ice cream away from (age four) Jim's straining hands. And then, without much transition, the pictures went from kid Jim to older teenager Kirk—Kirk aged eighteen, leaning up against a fence.

Everybody made shocked noises. Kirk aged eighteen had shoulder-length blonde hair and wore a blue bandana headband, a nose ring, a tye-dye t-shirt, and long, torn up blue jeans.

Kirk aged thirty-eight grinned at the picture of his polar opposite self. "I was a bit of a character," he admitted. The pictures continued. Kirk aged twenty-two perched on a tree branch, shaking his fist at a policeman on the ground. Kirk aged nineteen putting a finger to his lips as he climbed through a window. Kirk aged twenty-two leading a mile-long column of protestors down Market Street. Kirk aged twenty, a cigarette to his lips.

"Is that a _joint_?" said Uhura, shocked. Kirk nodded solemnly.

"Good times," he said reminiscently. "I lived in a commune for a while. We were very… free-spirited."

"No wonder you've got an STI marker on your medical record," said McCoy. Kirk stuck his tongue out at him.

"Excuse me, Captain, but why do you possess so many pictures of yourself engaging in illegal activities?" said Spock.

Kirk glanced at the picture on the screen. He had his arms wrapped around two men, who had their arms wrapped around two women. They were standing in front of a long-bearded priest who was holding a Bible and flicking off the camera.

"We were protesting anti-polyamory laws," he explained to the puzzled crew. "Remember the marry-ins they had years ago, where a ton of people would go convince a clerk or a pastor to marry them and then sue the government when they wouldn't recognize it? I did that a couple of times. My lawyer's still working out the legal strings."

"You did not answer my question, sir."

Kirk laughed. "Well, why not take pictures? We wanted to save our actions for posterity. And I wanted to look back at a time like this and remember why I thought what I did. You'd've done the same, Spock."

"What, drop a little too much LDS during the free speech movement?" said Spock in a rare moment of sarcasm.

"I would pay to watch you go down on a Mormon," said Kirk. "And I'll have you know that LSD is a substance not to be taken lightly. It should be taken very heavily."

"Drugs? Marry-ins? Protests?" said McCoy. "Jim, I roomed with you for three years with you at the academy and I didn't see a hint of this."

"Sure you did," said Kirk. "Remember when you came in and all of those bearded guys had turned our room into a Chamber of Peace?"

"You told me that was for a humanities project."

"I lied; I thought you'd guess. What about the time you accidentally broke my bong?"

"Your what?"

"… the glass sculpture, Bones. You really thought it was a vase?"

"Well, sure, it had holes, even though they were in weird places."

"The peace signs never tipped you off? My earthy smell after weekends camping? The ponytail? The time I _overdosed_ and you had to call in your medical class to help revive me?"

"I just… thought you were eccentric. And what cadet doesn't experiment with drugs?"

"I didn't," chorused everybody but Kirk and McCoy.

"We wanted Starfleet to make us officers, not redshirts," said Uhura. "No offense, Scotty."

"You're a redshirt, too," Scotty pointed out.

"Yes, but I've got my commanders' stripes," said Uhura. "The point being, Starfleet only accepts a minimal of arrest warrants and overdoses and—general mayhem in your police record before they laugh you out of the captain's track. How on _earth_ did you ever get to be a captain?"

"I really am exceptionally intelligent," said Kirk, batting his eyelashes. Behind him, a picture of Kirk aged twenty-one preparing to dump a bucket of brackish water onto an oblivious group of gowned, stiff-necked professors at a UC Berkley graduation ceremony flashed onto the screen.

"Despite ewidence to the contrary," said Chekov. "Really, sir, how did you make captain?"

Kirk sighed. "Starfleet and I don't see side to side on quite a few issues," he said. "But I'll tell you this. Eight five prime nine four."

"What?" said Sulu. "What does that mean?"

"You'll figure it out," said Kirk. "You're a smart bunch." He stood. "Now, it's time for the birthday boy to get some sleep. My shift starts early tomorrow." Ignoring their protests, he chivvied them out. For a while, he watched pictures flicker across the display. Then he tipped back the rest of his champagne and went to bed, a smile on his face.

x

A week and a half later, at midnight, Chekov sat bolt upright in bed and said, "The recruitment logs!"

He hailed everybody who had been at Kirk's birthday celebration, other than Kirk, and took them down to a conference room. He accessed the ship's computer and brought up the Starfleet recruitment logs. The records of ensigns and NCOs were accessible without a password. The higher up you got, the more access you needed. Only admirals could view a captain's recruitment log (how Kirk had gotten that password, Chekov didn't want to know). When the computer requested authentication, Chekov gave it the five-word phrase.

The record unlocked and Kirk's recruitment profile sat before them.

Everybody leaned in over Chekov to get a closer look. They had never seen so much red ink on a piece of digital paper. The first thing they looked at was Kirk's original application for a captain-track officer's commission.

He had written down his qualifications briefly, letting them speak for themselves. McCoy whistled, impressed. Kirk had more extracirriculars than anybody had suspected. He had served on student government, founded a number of clubs, done about twenty hours of community service a week, been a volunteer lifeguard at the free pool in downtown San Francisco, and about twenty other things. The link to his grades made everybody's jaws actually drop. He was first in his class by a long shot.

"My God," said McCoy wonderingly. "He barely studied. I never knew."

Despite his incredible qualifications, including a record thirty-four recommendation letters from Academy teachers and nineteen from outside sources, only one of the six-man panel had greenlit his application. One approval was all a cadet needed to continue in the application process, but it looked bad to the final arbiters if he or she received so few approvals. All of them cited his sixty-two page police record as a reason not to advance him to captain-track.

Two in three advanced to the second stage, which was simple. Like all candidates, Kirk sat a brief interview with an oversecretary, who assessed his physical and mental condition and made sure they were not accepting someone who only looked good on paper. The second stage eliminated another fourth. It was the final stage, where the candidate came before the five chief recruitment officers to convince them of his or her qualifications, that was the most difficult. Only one in fifty—of the reduced number of applicants—were accepted to captain's track. Most were shunted into first officer or department head track.

Everybody leaned in closer when they saw the second to last link on the page.

"They have video of the interview?" gasped Sulu. "We have to watch it. We have to."

Chekov glanced around at everybody. "All in faywer?"

"Aye," said the crew.

Chekov hit play.

Kirk was twenty-eight when he went before the five chief recruitment officers. He had cut his hair—McCoy remembered Kirk coming home, holding his cut-off ponytail in his hand and pledging to bury it and put a tombstone over the gravesite—and looked dashing in cadet red. His nose ring was gone, he was clean-shaven, and he had less dirt underneath his fingernails than usual. He even looked like he wasn't hungover or high, a rare state.

But Kirk, being Kirk, was going to do things his way (even if he was meeting appearance standards for the first time in his three years at the Academy). He greeted the panel with a single word: "Dudes."

Back on the _Enterprise_, everybody groaned. "He would," somebody muttered.

As one, the panel raised their eyebrows and shuffled their papers. McCoy couldn't help glancing over at Spock, who also had his eyebrow raised. On the viewscreen, Kirk sat down in on the stool in the middle of the room without being asked to.

They went through the preliminaries quickly; name, rank, serial number, basic qualifications. The eyebrows went up a few more inches when they saw his grades and recommendation letters. When they moved to his police report, the eyebrows disappeared into hairlines entirely. Sulu thought he could smell their skepticism through time.

"Cadet Kirk, you are extremely qualified for the captain's track," said the chief officer. "Your grades, recommendations, test results, family history, and activities are outstanding and would alone place you on the admiral's track. However." He held up the police record, which unfurled impressively and pooled on the floor. "If you could explain?"

"I rather think it speaks for itself," said Kirk, grinning at them. Uhura wanted to cover her eyes. Even Spock looked slightly on edge.

"It does have a certain… flavor," the chief officer admitted. "But the taste is, at the moment, disgusting. You are the grandson of Lawrence Townsend and Virginia O'Leary, are you not?"

"I am, sir," said Kirk. Chekov mouthed to everybody, Of the Battle of the Cayne System? They nodded yes, surprised. They hadn't known about Kirk's famous ancestors.

"And the son of George Kirk, of the _USS Kelvin_."

"I am, sir."

"Then please explain how their descendant was such—for lack of a better term—a hooligan in his formative years."

"Their descendant was his own man during his formative years," said Kirk coolly. "While I am delighted that you've mentioned my famous grandparents and father, please don't assume that any of their talent passed on to me. That would be too much of a gamble. Townsend and O'Leary were famous for their measured, calm decision making during one of the most chaotic battles of the Gorn War. My father was famous for saving eight hundred lives, mine included, by sacrificing his own. I doubt that I would be as measured and calm as my grandparents in the midst of battle, and I am not sure if I would have the bravery to do as my father did. But I'll tell you what I can guarantee you as captain. Those arrest records, those write-ups of my activities, mentions of my work in the organization of the polyamory, life-style, and clean streets movements, are marks of my ability to lead an unformed mass of minds towards one common goal. As a captain of a spaceship, I would get the job you required me to do—done. I might not do it in the expected way. I might not even go by regulations. (As you can see, I'm bad at following the letter of the law.) See, I trust in the sanctity of the mission. The purity of action, if you will. I will do whatever I can within my power to support and defend the Federation of Planets. I believe that I was meant to be in space. I was born there and I'll die there. I believe wholeheartedly in the Federation and in Starfleet; if you've looked closely at my police record, you'll see that belief, between the narrow lines. I believe that our government does incredible work for an awesome cause, and I hold that cause above even its own standards. What I said earlier, about what I can guarantee you as a captain, is this: Creativity and success, in one messy package called James Tiberius Kirk. Send me to the moon and I'll send _you_ to the stars."

That was the end of it. They accepted him with a minimal of fuss. The final document linked was Kirk's certificate of promise, given to all captain's track retruits. If Kirk worked hard to fulfill his obligations to Starfleet, they would work just as hard to promote him up the ranks and get him to a captaincy in twenty years. Kirk, of course, achieved his in ten.

"Good speech," said McCoy. "He was really tryin' to follow in the footsteps of King, and Blayce, and Dgranon, wasn't he?"

"He was," said Scotty. "Ah didnae know he had so much community organizer in him."

They continued, traces of amazement still evident in their voices. Nobody noticed Spock slip quietly out of the room.

He walked to Kirk's quarters and knocked lightly. Kirk came to the door, reading glasses perched on his nose and a book tucked under his arm.

"Come in," he said, ushering Spock into a chair. "Can I help you?"

"Ensign Chekov accessed your recruitment logs," said Spock without preamble. "We watched the visual recording of your interview with the chief recruitment officers. I have a query, if I may."

"You may," said Kirk, entirely unsurprised by what Spock had said.

"They never asked why, sir, but you told them," said Spock. "Yet you did not tell them everything. Why do you believe in Starfleet, and in the Federation? The organization is flawed, as you yourself pointed out. Why pay a blood price for a broken system?"

"Why are you in Starfleet, Spock?"

"Because I did not wish to attend the Vulcan Science Academy," he said.

"That's not an answer and you know it."

"I suppose… because I knew it was the right course of action to pursue."

"And you knew that how?"

Spock paused. "In all honesty, captain, I do not know."

"Exactly," said Kirk. "Faith. Belief. I hate what Starfleet does, so I joined them and got myself promoted to try and improve them from the inside. I believe in ideals. In the power of the mind and the heart over the physical body." He paused to scratch his head. "Not to mention, have you seen the Starfleet women? I'd move to Betelgeuse for ass like that."

Spock stared at him.

"Plus, the further out you get in the galaxy, the better the illegal substances." Kirk whipped open a drawer and produced a drawstring bag, which he waggled in front of Spock. "Want to light up with me?"

Spock fled, and Kirk sat back contentedly in his chair. He switched on some Greatful Dead, lit up, and started his paperwork, reflecting that certain things never change.

x


	3. Sound

Prompt: _Spock, for some reason goes temporarily deaf. At first Kirk finds it troublesome but decides it's this would be a good time to get his feeling of his chest and confess to Spock. By the time he does it Spock got his hearing back and heard everything. OR Spock can read lips or something I don't fucking know._

x

**Sound**

x

The world is not simply quiet. It is _gone_.

Spock can feel his vocal cords vibrating. He can see the lights of the bombardment beyond the horizon. He reaches up to feel his ears and wetness covers his fingertips. He brings them to his face. They are green. Covered in green. Covered in blood.

He tries to yell, but even though he knows his throat and mouth are moving, he just can't tell if any sound is coming out. He realizes that he is lying on the ground—why didn't he realize this out earlier? He breathes out and the earth stirs. He cannot hear his breath. He cannot hear. He _cannot hear_.

He cannot see very well, either. Something in the back of his mind knows it is shock. He sees feet, feels the ground-pounding lurch as a rocket explodes nearby. There are feet in his vision, black boots with two-inch heels, and then hands under his arms, hauling him up, changing what he sees. A breath on his face and encouragement forwards. He reaches out, scrabbles his hand on the person's back, and is rewarded when whoever it is wraps their arm around his shoulders, accounting for his unsteadiness. They are hurrying, jogging because Spock cannot go any faster. Spock tries to run but overbalances; the person slows him down.

Spock's neck feels cold on both sides; the blood has leaked all the way down to his collarbone. He feels nauseous. His world seems to be nothing but flashing lights and coldness. His body shivers. The arms wrap around him tighter.

His feet fall on stone, rather than sand, now. He is set against a wall. He watches as his rescuer moves in front of him. It is his captain—of course it is. Kirk flips open his communicator noiselessly. The captain is covered in dust and blood. His shirt is half-torn, exposing his pectorals, and there are small marks from shrapnel pattering his left side. One of his fingers looks broken. Spock tries to reach forwards, to help him in some way, but he overbalances. Kirk springs forwards, catching Spock, his hands on Spock's chest and back, replacing him on his seat. The captain's body heat is wonderful. Without thinking, Spock captures Kirk's arm when Kirk tries to move away. They both pause, surprised. Kirk's mouth moves, and Spock wishes he knew what Kirk was saying. Kirk sits close next to him, seeming to know what Spock needs, and flips the communicator open again. He speaks more, and Spock concentrates on his lips, but gets distracted by their shape. His head hurts. His head…

Pink flecks dance at the edge of his vision. The pain in his ears, dull at first, is increasing, until finally his whole head is full of a cold, insistent pressure. The pink has morphed to green, like his blood is rushing in on him, and white bursts in front of him, then black swallows him, and he feels the cool rock on his back, and Kirk's warmth at his side, and then nothing more.

x

He wakes up to light.

The sound is still muted completely, but the colors are not. His vision is no longer blurry. Shapes are painfully clear, the colors bright and piercing. The round circle of the light above him is in sharp relief. He closes his eyes again, overwhelmed by his strongest sense.

There is a hand on his wrist. His eyes snap open. It is McCoy, whose mouth is moving. His eyes are locked across the room, but as he speaks, he turns his gaze to Spock. He smiles through his words. The crinkles around his eyes are soft.

Spock feels a hypospray and goes to sleep again.

x

When he next wakes up, he opens his eyes to total darkness. He panics, thinking he has lost his eyesight too, and tries to sit up. The lights come on just as the cords attached to his body yank him back onto the biobed. Someone is clutching his shoulders. Worried breath caresses his face. It is Kirk, looking anxious. He is speaking, but only to himself, it seems. He touches Spock's cheek lightly and Spock holds back a shudder.

Kirk starts to move away, but Spock, acting once more out of instinct, holds his captain's wrist, drawing Kirk down to him. He hugs him tightly, trying to make up for his loss of hearing with an increase of touch stimuli. His mind with Kirk's voice, courtesy of his touch telepathy. He realizes immediately that Kirk does not know he is listening to his thoughts.

_Surely he'll be fine, Bones says modern medicine—all my fault he went out there—can do miracles, miracles out of the air, sound out of nothing, what is it like not to hear? what about my commands, my words, will he ever answer me again, will his voice continue when his ears stay dead, it took so long to wash that green blood off, and that rocket, landing so close, damned natives, damned regulations, damned Starfleet, I'll stay off the damn bridge as long as I want, that's my first officer down there, my Spock, you don't even know him, admiral, you can't tell me what to do, I refuse your orders and deny your charges, there will be no court martial here, _anger spiking in Kirk's mind_, damned paperpushers with no idea what love means, that's right damnit, it's about time I faced the facts, I love that Vulcan, so there, just try to keep me away from sickbay, my love is down there and I won't go away, I won't leave his side, the one time I did look what happened, and all I ever want is for him to hear me say I love you__**—**_

Kirk's thoughts are fast and unorganized, quite unlike Spock's.Spock replies, the words pushing into Kirk's head and wrapping around his synapses,

_Captain, captain, calm yourself, people have recovered from this type of trauma-induced deafness before, do not worry yourself on my behalf, I am fine down here, and you should go back to the bridge, especially since the admiral Which admiral? told you to do your duty, and I am not your duty, I am not your responsibility—_

Kirk seems unshaken by Spock's eavesdropping, and replies hastily,

_yes Spock you are my responsibility, you are my Crew, you are my life—_

_I am just one man, Captain, the needs of the many outweigh—_

_The needs of the one outweigh the needs of the many, how many times do I have to tell you that? listen to the sound of my mind, _the texture of Kirk's inner voice slides over Spock_, can you feel how much I love you, how much the coils within my head are wrapped around you, how many thoughts of you run through me? god I'm so glad you can hear this, I didn't expect you to—_

_I will always be able to hear you, Captain._

Kirk pulls away from the link, smiling. He leans down and kisses Spock's cheek. Spock imagines the noise; the little watery sound of the picker and then the sharp smack of the kiss.

McCoy comes in and gives both of them strange looks for seeming so happy. He picks up a PADD and types something on it, then shows it to Spock. The message reads,

_My tests indicate you'll have your hearing back in a week or two. Do you need anything?_

Spock shakes his head, knowing that his expression is different but not caring. He's not smiling, exactly, but he looks—less cold. McCoy raises his eyebrow in that way of his, looks at Kirk, and seems to understand.

"I'll just leave you two, then," he says to Kirk on his way out the door. "If you try to fill me in on the details later, I'll kill you, alright?"

Kirk laughs. "Sounds good, Bones."

Spock has never been an accomplished lip-reader, so the only word he understands is _sounds_. He reaches for Kirk's mind again, and Kirk gives it to him. _Sounds good, Bones_. Spock hears the echo of Kirk's voice. _Sounds good._

x


	4. Enterprise Medical Log

Prompt: _24 hours in the life of Leonard McCoy. Kirk/Bones._

x

_**Enterprise Medical Log**__, stardate 2260.1, Chief Medical Officer Leonard Horatio McCoy recording._

05:02: God_dammit_, Jim. You _fucking idiot_. ARGH. Okay, no, _calm_. CMO, that's my job. I'm here to heal. Not—not _stab my goddamn superior officers with a hypospray however much I dearly believe they deserve it._

05:14: Have calmed down slightly. Christine has removed all hyposprays from the vicinity. Probably a good idea.

05:15: God it's early. Did he really have to antagonize the Klingon outpost on Qotos IX at some ungodly hour of the morning? The answer is NO.

05:15.5: It occurs to me that technically, it's five o'clock. Sure, in the _morning_, but if now's not a good time to start drinking then I don't know when is.

05:16: Christine has, evidently, also removed all alcohol from the vicinity. Also probably a good idea.

06:24: Ensign Chekov woke up with a pretty bad stomach virus. I pumped him full of rhynenalzenine and sent him to the cafeteria for starches.

06:27: Lieutenant Sulu also has stomach virus. Am sending out level five—lowest level—shipwide alert.

06:34: Sulu's shift doesn't start until 10:00; I wonder why he's up so early. He wasn't throwing up like Chekov, just said he felt like he might.

06:34.5: … _surely_ not…

06:36: Have just accessed Deck Five, Corridor Eight video. _Sulu and Chekov emerge from Chekov's room within minutes of each other_.

06:37: I HAVE to tell somebody. Who can I tell? Not Jim. Oh God, never Jim, he would have them for breakfast.

06:38: Am heading down to caf for breakfast, having reminded self of food. Christine's coming with; am leaving Jabilo to hold down fort.

06:59: Uhura also in caf. Couldn't resist. Spilled to her and Christine. Feel like a blue-haired old lady chatting with her Baptist church friends over iced tea and cucumber finger-sandwiches. Have possibly become my grandmother.

07:18: Have returned to medbay to find Sulu waiting for me. Shit.

07:30: Does Uhura have to have such a big mouth? Sulu says, "The question is, do _you_ have to have such a big mouth?" I do not have a big mouth.

07:30.5: Well, alright, he has a point. My mouth is rather largish.

07:31: Jim said pretty much the same thing two nights ago over whiskey but I'm not sure what he meant by it. Huh.

07:35: Message from bridge. Evidently we were running away from the Klingons and they have now caught up with us. Red alert. Exchanged eye-rolls with Christine.

07:37: Klingon ship destroyed. Clearly they haven't got much in the way of armor. This probably hasn't done any favors for Jim's ego.

07:38: Dear God, it hasn't. He just came on the intercom sounding like somebody had promoted him to fleet admiral for taking a two-man scout ship out. Joanna could have destroyed the thing.

07:39: You know, I haven't even seen him today, technically. Was awoken at 04:42 this morning by red alert and dashed to sickbay only to discover one midshipman with a broken pinky, and that was from tripping over a pipe wrench. Evidently Kirk accidentally slept with the Klingon counsel on Qotos IX's wife and that's why we had to skedaddle.

07:40: How you _accidentally_ sleep with a Klingon's wife is beyond me. Did he _trip?_

07:41: Feel oddly jealous. Cannot figure out why.

08:00: Official start of my shift. Continuing to bravely restrain self from marching to bridge and strangling captain. Have already been up for three damn hours.

08:11: Have had another visit from Sulu. Evidently somebody told Jim about him and Chekov. Jim will not shut up about it. Sulu pointed out that since all of this was my fault, I should be the one to come make Jim be quiet. Pointed out that no power in the 'verse could make Jim be quiet. At which point Sulu started yelling at me.

08:12: Have given Sulu a sedative and agreed to do something about Jim. Left Christine and Jabilo to deal with possible catastrophes and am heading to bridge, slightly bemused helmsman in tow.

08:14: On bridge. Chekov attempting to set me on fire with the power of his mind. Uhura clearly concealing laughter. Spock calmly asking what brings me to the bridge. Might have to kill all of them.

08:46: Well, that could have gone better. Taking a few minutes to recover and remove splinters before explaining.

08:50: Drew Jim aside and attempted to explain to him that he was the captain, not a comedian, and to be nice to Sulu and Chekov. He gave me his trademarked "innocent little _moi_?" expression as my lecture drew to an end. Found self strangely focused on his lips. At which point a cloaked Klingon bird of prey de-cloaked and fired on us. So, you know, battlestations and such. I started to dash back down to sickbay and prepare for injuries, but the bird of prey cloaked again and Jim told me to stay topside, so I did. Christine let me know that they hadn't received any casualties yet. Evidently the hit hadn't caused much damage.

They did battle-type stuff and I was ignored, so I found myself pondering the captain's pectorals, which was just as surprising to me as it was to him, once he saw where my eyes were focused on. He looked like he was about to say something but the bird of prey de-cloaked again—I think the thing was focused on my brainwaves or something for optimal timing—so he did the captain routine and I hung around. Finally he let me head back to sickbay after I extracted a promise from him concerning Sulu and Chekov.

08:51: The splinters, by they way, came from me walking back to get my PADD and possibly relieving my frustration by punching my dresser.

08:52: Forgot to add—as I was leaving, his fingers brushed mine.

08:52.5: What do you mean I can't erase log entries? What kind of shitty system is this? Disregard previous entry.

11:42: Have been working on inventory all day. Christine figured out a vaccine for the Dactyllan copper disease. Have decided to head to bridge to request inclusion of vaccine formula report in daily sending to Starfleet.

11:49: Memo to self: Never go to bridge without a sedative. Compulsion to kill Jim increasing. No man has ever irritated me this much.

12:00: Lunch. Eating with Sulu and Chekov, who have forgiven me. Thank god, because the combined power of their wrath could _not_ kill a man. They both need to work on being more intimidating.

15:35: Have been in lab with Spock working on categorizing organic substances. We had a bit of a conversation. Spock felt the need to point out that everybody on the bridge had noticed me staring at Jim's chest. I felt the need to point out that everybody on the bridge was tired of Uhura's completely non-subtle, prideful comments about Spock's penis size. Spock felt the need to point out that I was irrational human and Uhura's comments about (and I quote) "the girth of my intelligence" were not careful references to his sexual organs. I felt the need to vomit (restrained self). He felt the need to leave.

16:58: Just got back from Jim's room. Feel shivery. He dragged me there to help him pick out an outfit for the dinner we're having on Erit III even though when Starfleet officers are invited to ceremonial events on planets regulations state that they are required to wear their formal uniforms so he had no actual reason for dragging me to his room in the first place.

16:59: Am putting way too much thought into visualizing Jim changing clothes.

17:00: … have developed physical side effects. Shit.

17:20: Dressed for dinner. It's with the Starfleet brass in the area and the rulers of Erit III, a six-man council who control all of the mining operations on their planet. We've been told to all but suck them off to get their cooperation. Should be fun.

17:20.5: "Fun" here meaning "a great opportunity to stab my eyes out."

17:23: Jim has the biggest shit-eating grin on his face and I have no idea why and it's worrying me quite a bit. Spock also looks worried by Jim's facial expression (as well he should be). Scotty just looks like a madman in his kilt. We're all in the transporter room, waiting to beam down.

17:24: As we were about to beam, Kirk said, "You look great in dress, Bones."

17:24.5: _I_ look great? _Me?_ Has he seen himself in a mirror? His dress uniform makes him look like a _god_. His chest is just about the most sculpted thing I've ever seen. He's done something with his hair, too, so that's it's—really shiny, and beautifully styled, and those pants make his ass look incredible.

17:25: I will deny saying any of that under oath.

18:56: In bathroom in middle of dinner. God, this is so boring. At least the head of the council keeps hitting on Spock, which is _hilarious_. And the food's not half bad. However, disturbingly, cannot keep eyes off of Jim. Damn uniform, makin' his muscles look all… muscle-y.

20:45: Well, shit. I just made out with Jim. I don't know whether to throw up or jack off.

20:46: Decision: neither. Must find him.

20:57: Jim located on bridge, still in dress uniform, bright red. Chekov, Sulu, Uhura, and Spock all staring at him as he attempted to ascertain the status of the ship before going to bed. He was having trouble speaking. "Jim," I said from the turbolift. "A word?" He whipped around like I was a ghost and stared at me. Everybody stared at him. "Uh," he said.

"Captain," said Spock. "I believe the _Enterprise_ is secure. You may safely retire for the night."

And then he _WINKED _at me. Spock _WINKED _at me. With his _EYE._

What the hell is going on?

23:38: Things have gotten… better? Possibly worse. Let me explain.

See, the dinner went swimmingly; we got the council on our side about the mining rights and everything. Spock shucked off his stalker (politely) and we beamed up. And I, because I had gone totally off the deep end, asked Jim if he'd like to have a drink with me in my room. So we had a drink in my room. Well, more than one drink. But not too many drinks. Not nearly enough drinks to start making out like a couple of rabid rabbits. Even though we _did_ start making out as such, which confused me initially, and then turned me on (even more), and then Uhura came over the intercom for Jim, and Jim pulled away and looked at me like I was his stepfather or something and fled. Didn't really blame him, as I was equally discomfited.

Bridge episode followed, which I have described. We came back to my room, and uh. Well, basically, I'm putting my clothes back on. Oh, shit—

23:39: Christine. At the door. Thankfully Jim was in the bathroom. Answered in a robe and accepted the PADD she handed to me to sign. Was grinning hugely for some indiscernible reason. No harm done, though.

23:40: Fucking fucker fuck. Jim's discarded uniform was in clear view of the door. I would try to hope she didn't see that it has the captain's insignia on it instead of the CMO's, but since our uniforms are _different colors_, it really doesn't matter.

23:41: Told Jim what happened; punched Jim when he laughed.

23:42: Bed now. Jim is staying, evidently. Not that I'm complaining.

02:17: Awoken by urge to use the restroom. Did so, stumbling. Have come back to find extremely sexy man laid across my bed, snoring wildly. Is that really Jim? I just can't believe this. He's my best friend. And my captain. There are regulations against this. Also, societal rules. And… rules of… sanity. What I'm trying to say is, there are about eight million reasons that this is _very very bad_.

And yet I don't seem to care.

03:24: Couldn't resist awakening object of my desire with smoldering kisses, which led to other, wonderful things. Should go back to sleep now. Can't. Jim's too sexy.

03:25: Zzzzzzzzzz.

04:43: God_dammit_, Jim, I was asleep. I know your shift's starting soon, but do I really have to deal with your morning wood? Yes I mind you waking me up at this ungodly hour, you beautiful idiot.

05:02: Huh, turns out I don't mind as much as I thought I would.


	5. A Warm Vanilla Milkshake

A/N: I cannot, I mean absolutely _cannot_ believe I wrote this.

Prompt: _repost because I need this like burning D: I KNOW I KNOW but seriously I might die if this isn't filled. SLIGHTLY GROSS? I DON'T KNOW. Vulcan ejaculate is coppery, sweet, and - Kirk is ashamed to say it - kind of really delicious. Kirk gets a little obsessed with the taste, even though oh God that is totally gross in so many ways, and starts to crave it at really inopportune times. In this universe, the replicator has been on board the Enterprise since long before Picard, so, naturally, Kirk asks the replicator for a... very... particular beverage. Yeah, really good idea, there, Kirk. BONUSES: a) Someone walks in on him asking for a big heaping mug of Vulcan jizz (McCoy or Uhura plz plz plz). b) The replicator gets broken due to some bullshit science of your choosing and can ONLY make Vulcan jizz, much to the annoyance and confusion of the crew. c) All of the above._

x

**A Warm, Vanilla Milkshake**

x

"Spock, it's fine," said Kirk, grasping Spock's hip. "Really, I want you to."

Spock shook his head, his pupils dialated. "I do not—wish to insult you, Captain. We—my race does not—"

"Come on, Spock. You haven't called me 'captain' in the bedroom since—well, since last night, but I _asked_ you to, then. Just let me!" He fluttered his eyelashes. "Please?"

Spock made a face at him (in the sense that the corner of his mouth twitched and his eyebrow rose point two three centimeters). "I cannot deny you when you ask so…"

"Sweetly?" Kirk provided.

"I considered saying 'sexily' but found that to be inappropriate."

"I don't think we can talk about inappropriate right now," Kirk said, pushing Spock back onto the bed. Both men were naked and highly aroused. Before Spock could argue more, Kirk climbed on top of Spock, grasped the half-Vulcan's erection in his hand, and licked the head lightly.

Spock's hands clenched, wrinkling the sheets.

After five minutes, Spock was making actual noises and thrusting tightly into Kirk's mouth. He could feel the pressure building within him. Kirk shifted his tongue and felt Spock tense a final time. He latched his hands onto Spock's hips, refusing to let him move. As Kirk had thought he would, Spock tried to pull away, but Kirk did that thing with his tongue again and Spock came.

It was the first time Spock had ejaculated in Kirk's mouth; before, whenever Kirk had given him a blow job, Spock had insisted on moving away to release. Last week he'd accidentally come on Kirk's face, which had made Kirk laugh, but Spock had been absolutely mortified and apologetic for days. Evidently, on Vulcan, this type of thing Just Wasn't Done, which depressed Kirk. He tried going to McCoy for advice but McCoy (childishly, Kirk thought) held his hands over his ears until Kirk gave up and left. Finally, after Kirk had bothered him about it for days, Spock gave in.

And boy was Kirk happy about it.

He had never tasted such incredible semen. He was used to the salty, slightly bleachy taste of human come. Spock's was incredible, smooth and sweet, like ice cream on a sunny day. Kirk regretted swallowing so fast. He licked his lips and ran his tongue over the head of Spock's penis again to make sure he'd gotten it all.

"_Wow_," breathed Kirk, straightening to stare at Spock, who had his hand over his eyes. "You taste _delicious_. Why didn't you let me do that _before_?"

"Jim," said Spock shakily, "I would like to apologize for being unable to control—"

"Shut up," said Kirk, bouncing down beside Spock. "No, seriously, that was awesome. If you continue _not_ to come in my mouth, I will break up with you."

Spock moved his hand, staring at Kirk with wide eyes.

"Kidding. Sorry, I forgot you don't have a sense of humor."

x

Kirk was officially obsessed. He gave Spock as many blow jobs as the Vulcan refraction period made possible until Spock, quite unsteady on his feet by this time, pointed out that he would like to participate in penetrative sexual intercourse before they were forced to go to sleep. Kirk enjoyed the sex as much as usual but he couldn't keep his mind off the taste of Spock's semen.

For the next week, he cornered Spock everywhere he could. When they were on eight-hour shifts, Kirk conned Spock into the turbolift for "official business" and then paused the lift between floors. Spock, objecting until the very end (when his less and less angry no's turned into panting yeses), eventually caught on and refused to enter a turbolift without a chaperone. Ordering everybody off the bridge did no good—Spock actually nerve pinched him rather than risk being caught on camera. After a while, Kirk realized that Spock was legitimately mad at him about all of this. But Kirk was addicted to the stuff. He plead that he was literally unable to function without swallowing four or five times during the day, but Spock just glared at him and kept his pants on.

When they were off-duty, Spock had fewer objections. He seemed to be enjoying the attention, though Kirk knew he could never get him to admit it. But even Spock could not take too much oral stimulation. He finally cut Kirk down to twice a day.

Which was how Kirk found himself in the empty cafeteria one afternoon staring at a replicator, wondering if what he was thinking could possibly work.

"Uh," he said awkwardly into the voice module. "Hi."

No response. Well, obviously.

"Do you make—er—non-traditional foods?"

"Affirmative," beeped the replicator.

"Foods that maybe aren't really considered foods?"

"No answer can be given for a nonspecific question."

"Okay." Kirk steeled himself. "I'd like some Vulcan ejaculate, please."

The machine was quiet.

"Did you hear me?"

"Your request is being processed."

"Wow, seriously? No, don't answer that."

The replicator did a bit more whirring and then, to Kirk's total shock, produced a recycled cup brimming with blue-tinged foam.

"Oh my God," said Kirk, lunging for it. "Thank you _so much_."

He gulped it down, grinning, and tossed the cup into the compactor. Feeling quite satisfied, he announced, "Another big, heaping mug of Vulcan jizz, please." The replicator produced it quickly and Kirk snatched it up, bringing the cup to his lips.

"_What_?" said a shocked voice behind him.

Kirk actually screamed and tossed the cup in the air. Its contents landed on the voice module. There was a fizzing noise and the lights in the replicator flickered.

Kirk whirled around. He hadn't head the door slide open. Uhura and McCoy were standing there, identical looks of horror on their faces. Kirk spluttered, bright red, with absolutely no idea what to say.

"Jim, did you—did you order what I thought you ordered?" demanded McCoy.

"No!" said Jim in a high-pitched voice. "Of course not! Why would I order that?!"

"Well then, what did you order?" Uhura said. "And—" She walked over to him, sniffing. "It sure smells like what I think it is."

Kirk covered his eyes. "Okay, _fine_. It's—it's semen. You can't blame me! The stuff tastes amazing! Wait, how do you know what it smells like?" he said to Uhura.

She glared at him. "I dated him for half a year, didn't I?"

Kirk was used to thinking of Spock as his, and had honestly forgotten. "Did you ever—did you ever taste it?"

"He never let me," said Uhura. "Which is clearly a good thing, since it seems to have the same addictive qualities as—as _crystal meth_. Are you insane? You can't demand something like that from the replicator."

"Evidently I can," said Kirk. "Look! Replicator: Vulcan ejaculate, please."

"Why?" McCoy inquired philosophically of the heavens.

The replicator spat out ten cups of it. Kirk blinked at it.

"Why did it do that?"

"No idea," said Uhura, approaching. McCoy moved forwards too, his first finger and thumb pinched delicately over his nose.

"It's not going to attack you," said Kirk, scowling.

"You never know," said McCoy, peering warily over Uhura's shoulder. "If it's at all related to Spock, it could try to harm me."

Kirk tried ordering just one cup but ten came out again. The smell had evidently permeated McCoy's makeshift nostril barrier. Gagging, McCoy requested coffee from a different replicator. Kirk, preoccupied by the problem at hand, turned around to ask the doctor something just as McCoy brought his cup to his mouth for a drink.

"No!" cried Kirk, realizing what was in the cup, but it was too late.

McCoy spat everywhere. Wiping his mouth slowly, he raised his eyes to Kirk's.

"Uh," said Kirk. "Sorry?"

"Water," McCoy croaked to the machine. A mugfull of Vulcan semen appeared. McCoy stared at it.

"I—I have to go find water," rasped McCoy, and fled.

Kirk started laughing, then caught sight of the look on Uhura's face. "I'll just—go get maintenance, shall I?" he said, sidling towards the door. "Be right back."

He dashed down to engineering, unwilling to discuss the situation over the intercom. Scotty was sipping a drink as he tapped at the engine controls. Kirk stared at the cup Scotty was holding and felt like beaming down to the nearest planet, never to return.

"There's a, uh, problem with the replicators," he said. "The ones in the cafeteria on Deck 8 won't produce anything but this, er, white stuff."

"Actually, the problem's everywhere, sir," said Scotty, taking another drink. "Ah was tryin' to get water earlier and all it'd give me or anyone else was this stuff. But this stuff's not bad."

"… yes. Well. It is a problem, though."

"Oh, quite. Don't worry, we'll have it fixed before dinner."

"You can't have it fixed a little before?"

"It's not really an emergency, now is it?" said Scotty. "The stuff is damn tasty, you've got tae admit."

"I am not arguing with you about the taste, Mr. Scott. I _order_ you to make the repair of the replicators your number one priority."

"Alright, fine, fine, ah'll get right on it," said Scotty, heaving himself out of his chair. "What is it, anyway?"

Kirk pretended like he hadn't heard the question and fled up to the bridge.

x

Spock was manning the science station. Chekov was monitoring Uhura's station; evidently she wasn't back from the cafeteria yet. Kirk was fine with that; he was considering hiding from her for the rest of his life. When Kirk walked in, Chekov addressed him immediately.

"Reports coming in all ower the ship, Captain," said Chekov. "The replicators are only turning out a—a sweet, foamy substance."

Kirk bit his lip, hoping Spock wasn't listening. His first officer did not turn around from his station.

"I've got Scotty on it, Ensign," said Kirk. "He says it'll be repaired by dinner."

Chekov's eyes widened as another call came in. "Captain, Lieutenant Richardson says she knows what the substance is—it's—"

"Oh, no no no no no," said Kirk, lunging forwards and clapping his hand over Chekov's mouth. "I know, I know, Chekov, it's sort of my fault this all happened, you don't have to discuss it—"

"Shouldn't we at least broadcast a message warning ewerybody not to—"

"They'll be fine, just fine, it'll be fixed soon," babbled Kirk. Shit, Spock was turning around. "Just uh, keep me updated."

"Yes, sir—message from Doctor McCoy."

"Put him on a private channel." Kirk fitted a transmitter into his ear. "Kirk here."

"DAMMIT JIM, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU PLAYIN' AT? NONE OF THE REPLICATORS ON THIS DAMN SHIP WILL PRODUCE ANYTHING BUT _SPOCK SPUNK_!"

McCoy's voice was so loud that Kirk had to pull the communicator out of his ear, which meant that the last part, even though it came from a tiny microphone, was broadcasted to the entire bridge.

Slowly, everybody turned to look at Spock, who was bright green.

"Captain," said Spock through gritted teeth.

Kirk made an inaudible, fearful noise.

"What. Is the meaning of this."

"I uh," said Kirk, attempting to become one with the captain's chair. "That is to say. There was a slight malfunction with the food replicators."

"Indeed," said Spock, his nostrils flaring. Carefully, everybody in the vicinity of the captain and his first officer backed away.

"They got slightly broken, because I, um… broke them," said Kirk.

"How," said Spock slowly, "did you break them?"

"Not too sure. Spilled a drink on the voice module. Could be it."

"Then it is entirely possible that the voice module was stuck in repeat and will only produce the last item requested."

"Huh, that's the case, then?"

Spock fixed Kirk with a glare that could have pinned a bug on a card.

"And what exactly was the item that you last requested from the replicator?"

"I don't think you want me to say that out loud, Spock," said Kirk, trying to make 'Spock' sound like 'my sweet, darling love who does not want to kill me, right?'

"I do not think I do," said Spock, quite obviously omitting the 'Captain' like he was trying to say, 'as if, bitch.'

Scotty got everything fixed eventually, but not before about a quarter of the crew had tasted the substance. Kirk ordered counselors to be made available to those who were traumatized and, with Spock basically holding a phaser at his head, apologized to the crew over the intercom. The incident was talked about for weeks. Kirk heard that a number of crewmen had ordered as much of the stuff as they could when they found out what it was. McCoy was seen at odd hours of the day, extremely drunk, for weeks afterwards. Reports said that when he had been unable to locate water, he had broken into Scotty's liquor stash. Kirk found this entirely understandable and offered to reimburse Scotty, who, he suspected, overcharged him.

Spock refused to speak to him for the remainder of the day and would not allow Kirk to give him a blow job for what felt like years. Finally, Kirk cornered Spock in their room.

"Listen, I was totally wrong to embarrass you like that," said Kirk. "It didn't even make sense to do what I did, because what I was tasting wasn't _you_, just a replication of you. And I realize that now. I just—I love going down on you. Having you in my mouth is just about the most intimate thing I can think of. You taste like a warm, vanilla milkshake, Spock." He smiled up at his tall, stoic lover. "I want to have you on my tongue forever."

Spock's expression softened. He kissed Kirk lightly.

"So I can give you blow jobs again?" said Kirk eagerly.

"Yes," said Spock. "But this time, I will take _you_ first."

x


	6. Spock's Journal

A/N: This is nothing in particular, just a drabble. Spock is totally OOC and weirdly poetic, dunno what's up with that. K/S.

**Excerpts from Spock's Journal**

**1:**

I may have a difficult time writing this. I was in a shop, in Cassidian, when I saw this book and felt compelled to fill its pages. I do not know how I will do so. I do not express much. I suppose I will write slowly, and a little, and after a time it will fill itself up, and I will be surprised when I turn the final page.

Today is my first day on the _Enterprise_. The captain accepted my request to become first officer, despite our disagreements in the past. I am pleased.

**5:**

It is unknown to me why I do not use stardates in this. I suppose because this is meant to be a casual collection of thoughts, not an official log, which I compose separately. This is a place to sigh onto paper, and spill my secrets.

If I had secrets to spill, I suppose.

**12:**

… and what I had said earlier, about Mr. Chekov and vodka, was evidently ignored by Mr. Scott, prompting the incident which I have described above. Dr. McCoy was not happy while he patched the engineering crew up. Mr. Sulu told me that Dr. McCoy is never happy, which is an illogical state for a human to be in, but I have been made thoroughly aware that the doctor is a highly illogical man.

I do not know why I relate such stories. They seem to amuse the others, and that is why I feel compelled to keep a record of them…

**14:**

Some days are wonderful. On some days I feel as if I could sing from my seat. Today was a day like that. Mr. Sulu and I watched the sun rise over Carin from the observation deck. The glow lit up his face, and softened the texture of his skin.

**22: **

…which makes me wonder about Barron's Theory of Electronegativity, when we pass through such ion storms. They always manage to knock something out, often as not on the transporter.

Lunch today was roast, an Earth dish I had never enjoyed. I did not, of course, consume the meat, but the potatoes and gravy were incredible, despite being replicated. I noticed the captain looking very much at home as he consumed his meal…

**46:**

I have been on the _Enterprise_ for a month…

The texture of the ship is light. (I slip now into the abstract.) She should be heavy, like a mountain of responsibility, but at times our duty weighs on us like feathers on the wings of birds; it gives more than it takes, and allows us to fly, to soar around the universe and poke our noses into dusty corners of the galaxy. The hallways are meant to be pleasing to the eye, even after years (for we spend years of our lives in space), and the artificial gravity is always just right, so that even the most space-nervous of us recognize the tug of earth on our bones…

**55:**

Lt. Ferrington died today. I could have stopped his death, but I had to protect Mr. Chekov and Mr. Scott.

It shames me that two were worth more than one, that I ever thought that. But I did. I made the empirical decision to save two people and allow one to be killed.

Who does that? That judgment is not mine to make, and yet I made it.

I do not feel like dinner.

**70:**

… something about his hair. I babble, of course. T'Pring was offplanet when Vulcan was destroyed. Our marriage remains intact.

**92:**

Even here I cannot say what I would like. I suppose that means I never can.

**100:**

I have written in this book one hundred times, and I am only two months into my five-year mission on board this ship.

I have more to say than I thought, though as I read back over it, most of what I write is quite illogical. I must vent somewhere, however.

**179:**

Ms. Uhura's birthday today. I gave her a painting, from Vulcan. She was quiet when she saw it.

She cried, later; she went to the restroom, and when she came out, I could smell the tears on her skin.

**198:**

His shirt has permanent creases in it at the elbows. He pushes the sleeves back so often to work on something. I sketched the folds on a PADD, realized what I was doing, and erased them.

**238:**

… removed ourselves from the pond, shore leave having been suspended indefinitely. I caught the way Mr. Scott stared at Ms. Uhura. He did not notice me watching him. Humans rarely notice me watching them. Except for the captain. He always seems to know when my eyes are on him.

**270:**

… nearly died when the machinery threw him against a wall. I almost tripped running to him; my mind was completely on fire, in a panic—what if he were dead? I think that I have never sounded so desperate in front of other people as I did when I called for the doctor.

He has recovered. I felt strange until he returned to the bridge to take his rightful place in the captain's chair, which I quickly vacated for him. For some reason, the thought of his form resting in the memory of my body's warmth was enough to make me excuse myself from the bridge.

The readings from Yewer XI are abnormal. We shall be sending two probes, one equipped to do a biometric scan…

**322:**

Fascinating plant life on Eruk V. Mr. Sulu and I spent hours wandering around the botanical gardens there while the captain got himself into trouble and the doctor and Mr. Scott, Ms. Uhura, and Mr. Chekov extracted him from it. Mr. Sulu asked me to call him "Hikaru" while we were not on duty. I do not know what to think of that.

I brought back a rhacias, an angiosperm with tissue-thin gray leaves. A thing of true beauty. When I had placed it in my quarters and watered it I realized that I had obtained it for my mother, subconsciously.

I have not cried over her in months, and shall not now.

**359: **

Half a year on board the _Enterprise_ today. I am writing in this more and more often, and I know why.

**392:**

Cannot escape the grace of the clouds. On planet, today, their frowning texture loomed, and spat rain at us. Cool drops of life, and the rising, steamy scent off of fertile ground. (The crops there are large and radiant, a true source of energy, truer than any dilithium crystal.) Did not even miss the hum and the echoing beep of the bridge. My uniform was soaked and clung to me, and I pretended anger, but truly wished to stay planetside longer. Had to beam up with the sawder shipment. My uniform is still drying, giving up its lusty scent to the antiseptic air.

Watched the rainclouds flit and flirt across the planet from the observation deck as we finished our orbit. Nobody knew.

**408:**

… simply _fascinated _by the theories of evolution and plate tectonics. The incredible ability of early scientists to figure such complex concepts out without so much as a standard-issue tricorder is beyond me. Wegener and Holmes nailed down the theory in the early 1900s, even though it was not accepted until the late 20th century, and not perfected until the late 21st. How did they _know_? How can they have guessed that the solid rocks of any planet were once liquid, and shall become so again, and that each molecule of our earth passes through its molten core, and that the glaciers carve out the northern reaches of our planets, and that the magnetic field reverses itself once in a blue moon, and…

**409:**

… when you take into account that the theory of gene flow was introduced some time in the mid twentieth century, and that it was followed for so long, one becomes rather enamored of human minds, who were so able to trace the buildup of their species to an early ancestor on the African continent, whereas the Vulcans, while highly intelligent and driven, lapsed in mysticism for years even after Surak, and were not able to trace their own evolution until…

**410:**

… the extreme stupidity of a number of sources from the same era, who railed against evolutionary theory, who could not understand the development of an eye, or the natural synthesis of organic molecules from the primordial swamp. How thick must one be to insist that something has not occurred simply because you cannot understand it? From that stance, police and detectives across the world would shrug off complex murders and crimes since they clearly could not have happened…

**411:**

I seem to have irritated the captain by talking exclusively about biology and geology at our most recent chess match. I shall note his disinterest in the subjects and refrain from ever attempting to explain epigenetics or the Moho to him again.

I did beat him two to one, though.

**445:**

I encountered Hikaru and Pavel in a lower supply deck when I went down to do inventory. They were sweaty and tired and walking close to each other. I was faintly alarmed to smell each on the other, and greeted them with a slight frown, which they seemed to take as disapproval (I realized later), and hurried away, ashamed and offended. I was in the middle of the inventory when it occurred to me what must have happened. I have considered apologizing to them for my rude actions, but have found that route to be an inadequate one. Instead, I rearranged the bridge shifts so that they share alpha, beta, and delta together, not just alpha.

**482:**

Blood reveals itself dramatically under duress. I have never seen it fountain before. I am still splattered with Scotty's blood. He is alive, barely. I am in sickbay with him.

I closed my eyes earlier and they stuck together, the stuff is so thick on my lashes. I need to clean my face, but I cannot leave him, not while he is so close to death.

**537:**

Duty uneventful. I haven't seen anything recently other than the interior of my brain. The ship is starting to feel small, cramped and tiny and the scenery is too bright, even though the walls are spelled for calm—not spelled. I've been reading too much old Earth fiction in my free time, which has been _ample. _But the walls do shine like the inside of veins.

**560:**

The captain saved my life today. I must go sit. I remember his arms were cold, but strong.

**598:**

I have been much too distracted and vague of late. Even though this is a casual diary, nothing more than a journal for comments and sketches, I must keep my mind organized. Organization is the key to clarity, and if there is anything I need at this current time, it is _clarity_, clarity and understanding.

**603:**

Despite being fully aware that this is my private journal I still find myself unable to write certain things within it, as if writing them would make them somehow more true, were that even possible, or logical. I have no explanation for my reluctance to commit to paper my feelings for—

**604:**

Ship status is normal, with slight fluctuations in the warp core accounted for by the rerouting taking place on the second engineering deck. Mr. Scott and myself have seen to the problem. We also scanned sectors 455.44443 beta and delta today, with readings fed to the star charts and ship's computers for processing.

I will treat this journal the same as my log, now.

**634:**

… note of the readings from the Salarian sector. They will be very important in my future research. I would describe the captain's feelings on the matter, but suspect I would become distracted in doing so.

Doctor McCoy's research on a cure for the Tarian flu has progressed lately, with the addition of Doctor M'Benga to the team…

**670:**

I have had _enough_ of being logical. Today has been the _worst_. Pavel spilled his coffee on me an hour ago, Leonard is being _vastly_ irritating, the Klingons will not stop firing torpedoes at us, and the captain tore his shirt sleeve in the recreation room this morning and has been too busy to don a new one, meaning that I have been attempting to deal with the sight of his extremely muscular upper arms all day. I am officially out of patience. I cannot, of course, express or reveal this frustration to any crewmember, but the extreme depth of my displeasure can be most accurately and discreetly expressed to you, journal—

_Why_ am I talking to this book? I need to meditate.

**679:**

… made a comment about my strange behavior as of late. I distracted Leonard by pointing out that as human behavior is always strange, how can he identify strange behaviors in other species? Sufficiently incensed, he had a yell at me, and then stalked off.

The captain watched me for the rest of the day, though. I tried to ignore him.

**694:**

He is so disarmingly kind sometimes.

**709:**

I do not know what I will do about T'Pring, or if I will need to do anything about her. I am courageous, but not brave; the captain is brave. I do not have enough spontaneity to be brave. I could never tell him.

**726:**

… had a wonderful time on the planet, though I would never admit it to the captain. The restaurant he, myself, and Scotty visited served a number Vulcan dishes. I persuaded the captain to try one, pok tar, which he enjoyed.

**765:**

Sometimes I think he does not deserve her, or vice versa; they are so different, and clever in such varying ways. But today I heard him whisper to her in Swahili, meaning that he took time to learn her native language, and she smiled at him, a smile meant only for his eyes. I did not, of course, look away.

**861:**

The words fall out of my head sometimes, and I am so mad and sorrowful at the loss of them, and I doubt their beauty, thinking they were an illusion of the night and the huge stars, but I suppose that as long as they fall down to an earth and creep into the soil and wrap their arms around a seed, which sprouts and grows into a leafy canopy more writers can rest under and draw more words from, then their escape is forgiven, and I move on.

That was my roundabout way of saying that what I was going to write seems to have disappeared from my mind, but that it's… okay (an interesting human word I have picked up) that it did.

**945:**

We are friends, now—firm friends, and true. He trusts me and I him. Leonard is not jealous of what we have, for what they have is different. A human friendship, I suppose. Our friendship is different—_kin_ship. We are brothers, you could say, though I would not—the word restricts me, bites back my emotions cruelly.

**946:**

I have decided to officially admit my feelings.

I do not expect this to be difficult. It involves only a pressing of pen to paper in a slightly different pattern than usual.

I should go ahead and continue, now.

As my mother used to say, here goes nothing.

_I am in love with Jim._

Why did it feel so—so freeing to admit that?

**947:**

I see no logic in this but humanity, so no logic at all.

**983:**

Very late at night, the wall that makes things sharp falls away, and the edges of the world cease cutting your eyes. I like thinking at night, more than I like thinking during movement. My thoughts can fill and feel the room.

I wish he were beside me.

**1034:**

One year on board the _Enterprise_. I have averaged exactly 2.83287671 journal entries per day. I am writing this from observation. There is nothing visible but space, which means (I like to think) that _everything_ is visible.

_Spock—_

_I found this on the observation deck. Would you mind seeing me in my quarters after dinner?_

—_Jim_

**1035:**

You saw what he wrote. I will have to resign Starfleet. Did he read you? Tell me, you damn chunk of paper—_did_ he?

**1036:**

I think he did.

He kissed me on the cheek.

I'm out of pages. How surprising.


	7. The Rock God

Prompt: _Spock is a monster at Guitar Hero. The crew only finds out when it becomes important to the mission. You know they still have it during this time period…_

I can't believe I wrote this, mainly because (fyi) it is like impossible to write a Guitar Hero action scene. Also, uh, couldn't resist making it K/S, hope OP doesn't mind.

This is so weird.

x

**The Rock God**

x

"You have got to be kidding me," said Kirk, gaping at the Citharians. "It looks like Guitar Hero! You can't possibly be telling me that the only way to get out of here alive is to play you at _Guitar Hero._"

"We are entirely serious, honored guests," said the Chief Citharian, who had eight fingers and five eyes and looked like he was probably much better at Guitar Hero than any of the bridge crew could ever be. "Bring out your best warrior. The competition shall commence momentarily, and if you do not participate, we will be forced to regard your disinterest in the game as rudeness, which is punishable by death in our society. By the way, loosing is also punishable by death."

"Okay," said Kirk slowly. "Just—give us a moment to pick our player."

McCoy looked like he wanted to explode. "Jim, you can't be serious," he whisper-screamed, grabbing Kirk's arm. "These people are insane! Have you seen the guards 'round this place? They have phasers the size of _toddlers_. We'll be killed!"

"Yes, we will be, if you don't let me decide who to pick!"

"I would be the logical choice, captain," Spock slipped in smoothly. Kirk and McCoy had almost forgotten about him. "You yourself are not rhythmically inclined, and Dr. McCoy is… generally inept." (The doctor spluttered ineffectually.) "I, however, play a number of musical instruments and am skilled with my fingers."

Kirk looked like he wanted Spock to elaborate on being good with his fingers but the Chief Citharian said threateningly, "Honored guests? Which of you will be participating in the game?"

"I will," said Spock, moving forwards.

McCoy covered his eyes. "We'll die here," he moaned. "Killed by fuckin' Guitar Hero. I never wanted to go this way."

"There, there," said Kirk sympathetically. "Spock's got more of a chance than either of us, you know."

And then Spock accepted the guitar controller that the Chief Citharian (who was evidently going to be Spock's opponent) was holding out to him, and both Kirk and McCoy realized that they might have a chance after all.

A change had come over the first officer. Spock eyed the controller, adjusted the strap professionally, and draped the guitar around his shoulders. His stance shifted: he grounded himself, angling his feet out and setting his shoulders. His arms fell in a practiced motion at solid angles, and his fingers flicked the keys and the strum bar. He pinkied the whammy idly and unconsciously bit his lip in concentration.

Kirk nearly melted right then and there.

The Chief Citharian punched through the opening screens and selected a song. Kirk and McCoy, clutching each other in shock, slipped around to the side so that they could watch Spock play. Both the Citharian and Spock selected Expert difficulty.

"Oh my _God_," hissed McCoy. "He might be tryin' to get us killed! I didn't know he had a suicidal streak. Did _you_ know he had a suicidal streak?"

"Bones, I think the man knows what he's doing."

Oh, did Spock know what he was doing.

The Citharian was good—Guitar Hero ran in the veins of his people, and he was Chief of them for a reason. He was famous for his steady fingers, his exact strum, and his poised stature.

But the Citharian had never been a bored teenager with an old PS2 and a lot of free time. The Citharian had never grown up on Vulcan, where music was prized as much as learning. The Citharian had never had obsessive tendencies.

The Citharian was totally unprepared for Spock.

"Let's rock," Spock actually growled.

The Citharian shot him an alarmed look, but the gems had begun to roll down the note highway like a ton of boulders. Spock slaughtered the gems, his Rock Meter pulsing green and his Star Power indicator constantly filling. He destroyed every single note that crossed the target. The Citharian, while good, did not have the charisma for the game. Spock _rocked _while he played, head-banging and lip-biting and shoulder-hunching and whammying wildly. Deeply intimidated, the Citharian started missing notes, ruining his score multipliers and tapping the wrong key nervously.

The song was over quicker than anybody expected. "PLAYER 2, YOU ROCK!" the screen proclaimed. Spock, covered in sweat, pulled the controller off smoothly. He had gotten 100% and achieved a 2,487 note streak.

"I seem to have beaten you," he said smoothly to the Citharian, who looked positively aghast.

"You have indeed," the Citharian whispered, pale as a ghost. "We will return your communicators to you immediately." He accepted Spock's controller reverently.

"Dude," said Kirk appreciatively as Spock approached him and McCoy. "That was _sweet_."

"Thank you, captain," said Spock modestly, smoothing down his messy hair. "I am glad to have been of use."

McCoy, who hadn't shut his mouth in the past five minutes, just gaped at Spock.

"Not cool, man," murmured Spock to McCoy with a slight smile on his face. McCoy's mouth snapped shut.

"Here are your communicators," whispered the Chief Citharian reverently. He also gave a small golden guitar pick to Spock. "As our new Rock God, you are hereby entrusted with the God's Pick." He placed his hands together and bowed low to Spock. "May your Rock Meter never drop below green, may your Star Power always shine, and may your rock permeate the world with its awesome." Straightening, he solemnly thew the horns.

"Thank you," said Spock, nodding politely to the Chief. He accepted the pick and Kirk called Scotty to beam them back to the _Enterprise_.

"Okay," said Kirk once they had materialized. "How did you _do_ that?"

Spock shrugged. "I have an aptitude for Guitar Hero," he said simply. "It was an excellent distraction in my youth, and, as you can see, has its uses in the real world."

"Mrgl," said McCoy, still unable to speak.

"Precisely, doctor," said Spock kindly, patting McCoy's arm.

Kirk grinned widely at Spock. "You got the game with you?"

Spock blushed a light green. "Maybe."

Kirk waggled his eyebrows. "Interested in teaching me how to play?"

Spock removed the God's Pick from his pocket and gazed at it. "It will take you years to become as good as I am," he said seriously. "The game requires dedication, patience, and a hard passion for rock."

"I've got all of that," said Kirk flirtatiously. "Well, maybe not the 'rock,' specifically, but what I do have does rhyme with that word." He winked at Spock. "And it's not your name. And it starts with a 'c.'"

Spock eyed him. "Your first lesson," he said firmly, "will be in subtlety."

x


	8. Secrets

Okay, I'm kind of shocked that I'm posting this, but—I wrote it, so, I'm posting it. Because somebody I was having a conversation with was like, "Sure, you can do humor, and you can do plot, and you can do angst, but can you do Angst?" (Yes, angst and Angst are entirely different things.) And I was like, "Yes, I can do Angst! What kind of Angst do you want me to do? Because I can do Angst, bitch." And they were like, "Noncon." And I was like, "Shit," but because I am evidently FUCKED UP AND HORRIBLE AND GOING TO THE SPECIAL HELL, I wrote… this. This twisted thing.

Everyone is _completely_ out of character. Dialogue liberally stolen from _This Side of Paradise. _Don't read this. Just don't. Huge gigantic warnings about how extremely violent and inappropriate it is. And also disturbing. Noncon, guys? Means rape. K/S.

x

**Secrets**

x

We have, I fear, confused power with greatness.

—Stewart L. Udall

x

_later_

In sickbay, all is silent. The doctors and nurses are mouse-like, moving on quiet feet and doing their duties as softly as possible. The reason for their noiselessness sits in a corner chair. It is their captain, his head in his hands. His shoulders are shaking, but he is not crying, just shuddering, as if earthquakes are running up and down his spine.

He tried to resist medical attention, but Second Officer Scott, in command while his senior officers were—incapacitated—forced him to allow Head Nurse Chapel's ministrations. She stitched up Kirk's two deepest gashes and worked on his largest bruises, but he would not allow her to set his broken wrist or tend to his fractured pelvis.

Finally, Doctor McCoy emerges from a private room. He is wiping blood off of his hands.

"He's sedated," he says quietly to Captain Kirk. "I need to talk to you, in private."

Chapel closes her eyes. She knows what that means.

Kirk looks up at Bones with red eyes. "What is it?"

"In private," Bones insists, taking Kirk's uninjured arm and drawing him into his office. He nods to Chapel to follow them, since she needs to know too.

When the door is closed, Bones speaks bluntly.

"Spock was raped," he says, eyes fixed on Kirk.

"I know," says Kirk, in a tiny, horror-filled voice. "I couldn't—we were surrounded, they took our phasers, and—" He pauses, breathing deeply. "They—the leader injected me with—with something, and I couldn't—" He stops, unable to continue.

"There were traces of catylalenine in his blood, doctor," says Chapel, unable to look away from Kirk's shaking form.

"Oh, God," says Bones. "Jim. It was—it was _you_."

Kirk can only nod.

"Jim," says Bones, putting his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Catylalenine is an irresistible drug. Any quantity of it over 10 cc could put you into a frenzy no man could prevent. You're not responsible."

"I _am_ responsible, damnit!" cries Kirk, slamming his fist on the desk. "That's my first officer in there, _sedated_ and hurt—and—and God knows what else because of me. And I can't even _remember_ it."

"A small mercy," says Bones. "Another affect of the drug. Spock will be fine, Jim. He's—he's damaged, but he'll heal."

"He'll request a transfer," whispers Kirk. "He can't leave. But he has to—how could he stay? After what I've done—"

"_You_ didn't do it," Bones insists angrily. "That drug did. Jim, there was nothing you could do."

Kirk shudders. "Nothing—nothing I could do. Dammit, Bones, there's always something I can do. There's always _something_."

x

_earlier_

At last, a tired voice responds to Uhura's message. She sends their coordinates to the transporter room. Scotty beams them up within seconds. As the golden glitter clears, a form collapses to the floor. Kirk, too exhausted to keep holding him, has had to let Spock fall to the surface of the transporter pad. The medics load him onto a stretcher. Scotty is horrified by Spock's torn uniform, his battered face, the strange angle of his left arm. Kirk shakes his head at the medics that try to assist him, limping off of the pad and on to sickbay.

"Just make sure Spock is okay," he says to them in a voice of steel.

x

Bones drops his PADD as the stretcher rolls in. Spock looks _terrible_. In the information obtained by one glance, Bones has to order five medicines, the dermal regenerator, and any Vulcan blood they have in store. Worse still, Spock is conscious. There is a look in his eyes that Bones has never seen before. Spock tries to speak for a moment, but Chapel presses a hypospray to his neck, and his eyelids flutter close.

Bones starts with the worst injuries. Spock's neck is bleeding sluggishly from a strange, circular cut. His collarbone is broken. His head is bloody; his straight black hair is tinged with liquid green. His chest is covered in deep scratches. Four of his ribs have been _shattered_; one has punctured his lung. Bones goes lower, tugging the privacy curtain around himself, his patient, and Chapel, who is also tending to Spock's wounds. His hips are one massive bruise; his pelvis is actually broken. His upper left arm has been broken by blunt force, and three of his fingers are broken and another three are fractured. His nails are worn down, torn as if he was attempting to climb solid rock for hours. His knees are raw, his right ankle is fractured, and all of the toes in his right foot are broken. A chunk of flesh has been taken out of the back of his left thigh. Bones finally sends Chapel out when he has to remove Spock's underwear.

There, he freezes, horrified.

He yells that a private room be prepared. Draping a surgical sheet over the half-Vulcan, he wheels him quickly into the room, running back out to get a specific kit from storage. The ensign he requests the kit from stares at him with wide, frightened eyes before Bones bellows at him to hurry up.

Back in the private room, Bones opens the rape kit. His hands are shaking as he uncorks the sample bottles. Turning the unconscious Spock gently onto his side, he swabs Spock's anus before running an antiseptic swab and a protoplaser over the area. He takes samples from the penis and mouth, too.

He sets the dermal and osteo-regenerators over Spock's still form. The punctured lung is being tended to by cellular microsutures. He gives Spock a few hypospray injections for infection, regeneration, and blood loss, along with a multipurpose vitamin. He is done with healing, for now. He cleans Spock up, running a portable sonic rinser over the body. He finishes with an all-over antiseptic swab.

After he is finished, he stands back, still unable to believe what he has seen. Spock is hidden under a surgical sheet again, dressed in a thin, loose medical robe. Bones can't put clothes on him yet, not when they would just have to be taken off again for later checkups. Spock looks small and fragile. The veins on the eyelids of his closed eyes stand out against his pale skin, at least on his right eye; his left eye is black. There are bruises and scratches and scrapes all over him. He looks, Bones thinks, like somebody tossed him in a combine harvester for a while. His lips are thin and red. At one point, he bit through the edge of his bottom lip. Bones realizes that the circular cut on Spock's shoulder is a bite mark. He feels sick.

He has to tell Kirk. He stumbles towards the door, stopping to right himself. Two years on the _Enterprise_ and twenty as a doctor and he's never had to deal with a male rape victim before. He supposes it's insensitive of him, but for some reason—probably because he saw female rape victims as soon as he started interning and is used to them—this really disturbs him.

Before he leaves, he turns back. Spock twitches in his sleep, turning his head jerkily, almost needily. His lips part, and a fast, scared breath escapes.

Bones steels himself and exits the room, having forgotten to wash his hands. He wishes he didn't have to leave Spock alone.

x

_later, again_

When Spock wakes up, the first thing he sees is Kirk's face.

Bones cannot understand Kirk's expression. He knows that Kirk's connection with Spock is more than friendship. It delves into territory he cannot comprehend. He moves Kirk gently out of the way, not wanting to alarm Spock by presenting him with his attacker immediately. Kirk removes himself to a corner, knuckles white.

"Spock," said Bones quietly. Spock's face is utterly blank. "You're safe. You're back on the _Enterprise_. We patched you up and you're going to be fine."

There is no reply, no hint of recognition of his words, not even a blink.

"I can—I can ask the captain to leave," says Bones quietly, but he knows Kirk will hear. Kirk's head falls to his chest.

Spock does nothing but blink. After a while, ignoring all attempts to communicate with him, Spock falls back asleep.

x

He sleeps for days, and when he wakes up, he still refuses to speak. Kirk paces in the background, ever-present, spending all of his free time in sickbay, in Spock's room. Bones tries to keep him out of the way, worried that Spock will panic when he sees Kirk, but whenever Spock's eyes meet Kirk's, neither of the men do anything. Kirk sees a counselor. The incident is reported to Starfleet, which orders a perfunctory investigation that won't do anything other than verify the incident. Bones's medical records of his examination of Spock are sent, along with Chapel's blood test of Kirk, and Kirk's log of the mission. Catylalenine is a well-known drug and Starfleet accepts the explanation given. The inquiry is declared over; Kirk receives no punishment. The Federation does not punish crimes committed in a state of insanity.

After a week and a half, nobody has yet been able to provoke speech from Spock. All of the ship's doctors, counselors, and psychologists have tried. His friends have talked to him. Nothing. Even when Uhura touches his still-bruised cheek, he does not move, even though he is entirely conscious. He eats everything he is offered calmly. He submits to further exams. But he is slow on his feet, and shaky; his strength has not yet returned.

Nobody thinks it's a good idea to let Kirk talk to Spock, but as the third week of silence approaches, the psychological team are running out of ideas. With an observer present, Kirk tries speaking to Spock, saying his name gently, apologizing, the hurt evident in his voice as he explains the situation. He tells Spock what happened and apologizes some more. Nothing. Silence.

They try a few more times before Kirk, voice low as if he is ashamed to even bring up the idea, says that he might be able to talk to him if the observer isn't present. The psych team is worried, but they have no other alternative. They tell him they'll check on him every five minutes. Kirk nods and disappears into the room.

Bones feels cold. He hopes it works.

x

"We're alone," says Kirk. He is sitting on a chair next to Spock's bed. Spock is staring at the ceiling, the pulse in his neck going faster than usual.

"Spock. Did you hear me? We're alone."

Spock does not move.

"Look at me," says Kirk quietly. No response. "Spock. Look at me." Nothing. "Spock. That's an ORDER. _Look—at—me_." His voice is nearly a yell. (The room is soundproof.)

Spock turns his head, but he seems to do so against his will. The muscles on his neck strain at the effort.

"You've been doing very well, Spock," says Kirk, quiet again. "Not talking, not requesting to mind-meld. You must remember what I said. About how you _deserved _it." And the poison in his voice cuts.

"You disobeyed me, Spock. Down there on the planet, you wouldn't do as I said, just because you thought the natives didn't have to die. They did. You should have known they did. And you should have listened to me. You always have to listen to me, and yet you never do. You act like you're in control, but really, you're just a shell of a human, a mockery of a man. You're a carcass full of memory banks."

Spock's mouth opens, but no sound comes out. A cruel smile flits across Kirk's lips.

"They have no idea, you know. I found the catylalenine down there, and injected myself with a bit of it. They think I'm innocent. They think all of this was a terrible accident. They think nobody's at fault. But I know who's at fault. You are, Spock. _You_ are."

Spock's breath shudders. His eyes are wide and pleading. Kirk knows Spock believes what Kirk is telling him.

"All that at the beginning—you being captain, being superior to me, trying to _strangle _me on the bridge—that wasn't you. You could never be dominant. You're made to be submissive, subordinate—_less_ than others. Why do you think you fit as First Officer so well? Why do you think I kept you, even though you disobeyed me? You are a tool, nothing more. At first, you didn't understand your function. Of course you didn't understand. You don't have the brains to understand. All you have are printed circuits. But now, you get it, don't you? You get that you need to be _disciplined_ by me, controlled by me, broken and remade by me. This was just the first step. There will be more."

For the first time, Spock makes a gesture. He shakes his head, slowly, fear and hurt in his eyes, his first gesture of resistance.

"No," growls Kirk. He backhands Spock, striking him hard across the face. The old bruises throb. There will be no evidence of Kirk's violence.

"You will _obey_ me," says Kirk, leaning to press his lips against Spock's ear. His hand squeezes Spock's arm mercilessly, the same grip that broke it three weeks ago. "You have no other purpose. You're a traitor from a race of traitors, broken at the core, rotten like the rest of your sub-human race—and you had the _gall_ to try to make love to me, that night before the mission. I don't _make love_, Spock. I _take_ it. If you want me that badly then I'll have you, but you can never have me. You can't just press your lips to mine and pretend I'll go along with it. I will have no florid confessions of everlasting ardor. I will simply have you. Now, do you understand?"

Spock mouths for a moment, wide-eyed and shivering. He tries to speak, but his vocal cords have not been used in a long time. Kirk strikes him again, and he manages to cough out words.

"Yes, Captain," he says hoarsely, pain in every syllable. "Yes, Captain. I understand."

x

When they open the door in five minutes, Kirk has just closed his mouth. He is sitting near the bedside, not too close, but not too far. Spock is staring at the ceiling, silent and expressionless.

Kirk turns to them. Once more, Bones sees the unreadable expression flash across his face.

"He hasn't said a word," Kirk says, voice heavy. "I'm sorry, Bones. I tried."

x


	9. Trust

(Very succinct) prompt: _McCoy/Chapel/Spock._

This is like. The hottest prompt ever. Because McCoy/Chapel is _damn_ hot, Spock/Chapel is old school and hot, and Spock/McCoy is The Ultimate in guilty pleasures. Basically: fuck yes. I would really like somebody else to fill this prompt too because it's not as much fun reading your own porn. And guys, if you haven't seen the TOS season three episode _Plato's Stepchildren_, I don't know what's wrong with you, and also this totally spoils it, so, yeah.

Also FYI, it is extremely hard to write non-explicit porn. Stupid ff dot net, with your "no NC-17!" bull. PORN IS AWESOME, OKAY? But yeah, this is pretty graphic, but definitely, _definitely_ not as graphic as it could be.

Also I am evidently unable to make _anything_ het. Sorry. It's… kinda het. But not at the atomic level. Okay, I have to shut up. HERE HAVE A STORY

x

**Trust**

x

The kiss made her feel the worst kind of shame. Kirk and Uhura looked fine—afraid, but in control of their fear. But Spock was different. Spock did not like being forced to do anything, much less anything emotional.

He kissed her deeply and mechanically. _All I want to do is crawl away and die,_ Chapel kept thinking. When Kirk finally broke out of Parmen's telekinetic control and restored order, Chapel could do nothing but stand near the back wall, trembling. Spock did not look at her, but she couldn't keep her eyes off of him.

The Platonians had been trying to convince McCoy to stay and be their doctor by humiliating his captain and first officer until he broke and agreed to remain on his own. They could have easily forced him to remain, but they knew he could harm them with his knowledge of medicines. For the past day, McCoy had been thinking of nothing but how to get out of the mess they are in. But as soon as he realized what Parmen meant to do by bringing Uhura and Chapel down to the planet, he felt his mind grind to a halt and refocus.

He ignored Kirk and Uhura entirely. The expression on Spock's face—like this was the most painful thing that has ever happened to him—distracted him completely. Watching that man fall apart was just about the sexiest thing he had ever seen. He leaned forwards, ignoring Parmen's knowing glance in his direction. Chapel looked completely ashamed. He knew she'd been in love with Spock for the past three years; everybody knew. He remembered especially the time they met Spock's black-hearted semi-wife T'Pring. When Spock had introduced her to the bridge as his wife, the expression on Chapel's face had been enough to make a man cry.

He had never followed their relationship with much interest, but then, watching their lips meet haltingly, he knew things would never be the same.

x

A month later, between planets, a fire broke out in the engine room. McCoy and Chapel spent four long hours treating burn victims. Nobody died, but the dermal regenerator broke three hours in and they had to treat Ensigns Vancouver and Shetty by hand. They sweated, side by side, to repair their patients' skin, using cannibalized parts from other machines, skill, and a good measure of luck. When they'd tucked their patients in they discovered they'd been leaning against each other, each feeding on the other's body heat and solid presence. He kissed her on the cheek in thanks for her hard work, and the next week they got drunk and had desperately quick sex on the engineering deck.

Chapel had never thought too hard about her chief medical officer before. Sure, she'd gotten the occasional twinge seeing those skilled surgeon's hands at work, but only rarely. She had served under too many male doctors to see every one of them as a potential sexual partner. But that night on the engineering deck changed her mind. McCoy had, she suspected, been less drunk than he pretended to be, since he'd been able to function quite normally. There was something in his kisses she liked. He tasted incredible. Not better than Spock had—no matter how horrified she had been at what was happening, she had definitely noticed that Spock was like a warm, spicy fire—but different. McCoy was mint iced tea. She wondered what they would taste like together.

McCoy had been lusting after Chapel ever since the incident on Platonius. The day after their assignation in engineering, he realized that he wasn't sated by the experience. As he stared at himself in the mirror, he figured something out: it wasn't _just_ Chapel that he wanted. Growling at his sex-crazed libido, he slammed his fist onto the counter in his room, denting it.

Spock's part in their story was unknown to either of them. He had witnessed their assignation from behind a weapons panel, and instead of leaving like a polite Vulcan would have, had stayed to watch. The feelings it roused within him he quickly quashed, and he treated them as normally as possible the next day.

There was a fourth element that nobody suspected: James Tiberius Kirk.

x

Kirk had seen all of it on the ship's cameras, since he had taken the redeye shift on the bridge and had the bad habit of spying on his crew. He gave it a week, watching Spock avoid McCoy and Chapel, watching McCoy and Chapel try to be subtle about their new relationship, and most interestingly, watching McCoy and Chapel—quite independently—paying closer attention to Spock. He set a watch on their computer access and noted that each of them pulled up the others' profiles. But none of them acted.

Finally an opportunity arose. McCoy and Chapel were alone on shift in sickbay one evening, and Kirk watched them disappear into McCoy's office on the _Enterprise_ cameras. Kirk waited ten minutes and then sent Spock down to sickbay to ask McCoy a question.

Of course, Uhura required him for a transmission to Starfleet and he couldn't leave the sickbay vidscreen up, so he simply had to wonder what was going on. Spock returned quickly, completely calm and with an answer to Kirk's question, meaning that he'd talked to McCoy. Kirk noticed that Spock's ears were bright green. Uhura, also noticing, opened her mouth to say something about it, but Kirk accidentally hit a few buttons on her panel and she had to correct his clumsiness. The moment passed.

x

"Oh my _God_," said Chapel, throwing her clothes on as quickly as she could. "I think that is the most embarrassed I have been in my entire _life_. I will _never_ be able to look him in the eye again!"

McCoy didn't say anything. He was dead white. He felt nauseous. Had he ruined his chances with Spock? Then he felt even worse for thinking that. He was a straight, mature man, damnit, not a hormonal homosexual. He didn't have any attraction for Spock whatsoever. He wasn't wondering what Spock had thought of what he'd seen. Not one tiny bit.

Chapel, while indeed quite embarrassed, was also more aroused than she could care to admit. She had noticed that Spock had paused at the door for longer than she would have before turning on his heel and waiting outside for McCoy to exit on his own. Watching his eyes, she had seen his gaze sweep across their conjoined forms, and seen the slight pull of his inner lip as he bit it. She didn't know, but he'd bitten straight through the skin.

x

Kirk, it turned out, didn't have to do anything else.

That night, Chapel had McCoy come to her quarters at eleven fifteen. She left her room for Spock's room at eleven without telling McCoy what she had planned. She had noticed McCoy's reaction to Spock's interruption of their quickie and if her suspicions were correct—_well_. Then tonight would be very interesting.

At Spock's room she drew herself up, shook her head to clear it, and knocked.

Christine Chapel was a beautiful woman, and she knew it. She had a deep, sweet voice and piercing blue eyes. She looked older than she was, more mature, and very elegant. But despite her confidence, she couldn't help but draw back a little when Spock answered the door. He was a head taller than her and just so _severe_, with his mercilessly cut hair and stoic expression and ramrod-straight posture. She tried to smile. He invited her in almost grudgingly.

"About today," she began.

"The incident is forgotten," he said quickly, so quickly she was sure it wasn't.

She took the plunge. "I'd rather you didn't forget it," she said softy, moving forward in the low light. "I thought, perhaps, that you watched us a bit too long before leaving. And I thought, perhaps, that you might like to watch some more."

Spock's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. His ears turned bright green again, and his cheeks flushed darkly too. He looked away from her, shoulders hunching.

"Your suggestion is inappropriate, Nurse Chapel," he said, emphasizing her title. "It was an accident that I encountered you and—you in such a compromising position. Accidents only happen once."

"There is no harm," she said, putting her hand on his lower arm, "in you admitting that you liked what you saw."

Spock pulled away from her and shook his head. "There is," he said hoarsely. "There is much harm in—"

She reached up and stroked his hot cheek. He shuddered under her touch.

"You can want this," she said. "I won't force you. Nobody will ever force you again. You can do everything you want of your own accord. But if you want something, you have to come get it. And—_God_, Spock. I'm holding this out to you. Just _take it_."

He was tense under her hands. She wrapped her fingers around his, moving close to him and resting her head on his collarbone.

"Tell me to leave," she said into his chest.

He was silent. "I cannot," he finally said.

She reached up to kiss him gently on the lips and smile into his night black eyes.

"I trust you," he said simply, and returned the kiss.

They embraced for a longer time. She clung to his neck and he steadied her, moving his arms to encircle her back. He was trembling, but determined. The kiss was not awkward and hesitant and forced, but searching and considerate.

When they parted, she said, "We can wait for longer, if you'd like, but… Leonard will be in my room by now."

She felt him stiffen again, then relax.

"Are you afraid?" she said. "That—that he's a man?"

He nearly smiled at her. "Unlike humans, Vulcans are willing to admit which sexes we are attracted to. We are, however, less inclined to own to our attractions to individuals."

"Fascinating," she grinned.

"Indeed. Does Doctor McCoy—"

"You know, at this point, you can probably call him Leonard."

"—does he know that I am coming?"

"No," she said. Spock's eyebrow went up. "But you didn't see him after you interrupted us," she continued. "He was completely shaken. He couldn't say your name, and he wouldn't look at me. He's _very _interested." She paused, then added pointedly, "And you said you trust me."

"I do." He sighed. "Lead on."

x

McCoy was pacing in Chapel's room. Where was the woman? It was unlike her to be late.

The door slid open. He looked up, expecting to see her, but not the person she tugged in behind her.

McCoy took a step backwards. "What's _he_ doin' here?" he demanded.

"Leo, listen," said Chapel, letting go of Spock's hand and crossing to McCoy. "It's okay. He can be here, I don't mind. And he doesn't mind. And I _know_ you don't mind."

"What? What d'you mean? Be here for _what_?"

"To watch us," said Chapel, trying to kiss him. McCoy batted her away, a wild look in his eyes.

"Have you lost your mind, Christine? I'm a doctor, not an exhibitionist! Spock, I can't believe you listened to her. Did she even say what you're s'posed to be doin' here, or did she just drag you in?"

"I was made aware of the situation, doctor," said Spock, looking straight into McCoy's eyes. The "doctor" sent shivers of pleasure up McCoy's spine. "If you are uninterested in being watched, then perhaps you would not mind doing the watching." In one bold stride, he crossed the room and took Chapel in his arms, kissing her deeply.

McCoy's jaw dropped. At first, he was massively indignant. He'd come here for Christine alone and hadn't planned on having to compete for her. Then he was embarrassed. Should he leave, and let the two of them get on with it? And finally, he was aroused. His face had gone through the first two expressions and was having a difficult time settling into the third. He felt his body respond as he actually watched them kissing instead of staring avidly at the floor. Spock moved his hands up and down Chapel's back, stroking her spine and shoulders, and she clutched his neck, fingers digging into the base of his skull. They were practically devouring each other.

He couldn't possibly stay, no matter what Spock said. That would mean admitting more about himself than he cared to. He moved towards the door, aiming to leave, when Chapel broke away from Spock.

"Leo," she said, voice heavy with lust, "go sit on that bed right this minute and don't even think about getting up again."

McCoy stared at her, unmoving.

"Do as she says," said Spock. He looked straight into McCoy's eyes. "Doctor," he said, "trust me."

That did it. McCoy sat on the bed and didn't even think about getting up again.

He watched as Spock ran his fingers up Chapel's thigh, hand disappearing underneath her uniform skirt and evoking a sharp gasp from her pursed lips. He watched as Chapel pulled off Spock's blue uniform shirt and black undershirt. He watched as Spock unzipped Chapel's dress and let it pool on the floor, then pressed her against the wall and covered her collarbone in bitemarks. He watched as she freed herself enough to remove his pants, then turned to McCoy.

"Come kiss me," she said.

He stood as if on puppet strings and crossed to her, passing close to Spock and noticing his radiating warmth. He gathered Chapel in his arms and pressed his mouth to hers, tasting a spicy warmth on her normally sweet breath, gasping as he realized what Spock tasted like. Chapel had his shirts off in a minute and was running her hands over his bare chest when McCoy felt hot hands on his ribs and scorching lips on the back of his neck. He jumped, twisting away from the both of them.

"Did I do something wrong?" said Spock curiously.

"Yes!" cried McCoy. "Dammit, man, I'm not _interested_ in you."

"Like hell you aren't," snapped Chapel. She looked quite fetching with her mussed hair and blue lace underwear. "Is there any harm in admitting that you liked what you felt?"

Spock shot her an unreadable look, but she ignored him, continuing to stare at McCoy.

"There is," McCoy said hoarsely. "There's lots of harm in—"

Spock moved forwards and stroked McCoy's flushed cheek. McCoy shivered under his touch.

"You can want this," Spock said. "We will not force you." When McCoy did not respond, Spock leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips.

McCoy felt heat uncoil within him. Fire flowed down his veins, urging him to reply. He returned the kiss, pulling himself closer to Spock, feeling the hard, masculine body against him. He had never had this before. He had never touched a man like this. He had never run his hands over a muscular back and up corded arms, never brushed his lips across a prickly cheek. The effect was intoxicating. He couldn't get enough of the spice of Spock's mouth and the _maleness_ of his form. He kissed Spock like he was dying, moving sensuously against him.

Chapel watched wide-eyed, her heartbeat speeding up. Spock shoved McCoy into the wall, holding McCoy's wrists as he covered McCoy's ear with his mouth. McCoy moaned against him, panting heavily, trying blindly to scissor his legs around Spock's. Spock growled and lowered himself down to his knees, working desperately at McCoy's pants.

Chapel saw the panic return to McCoy's eyes as he surfaced from Spock's engulfing sea. She moved over to him, holding his hands in hers, and kissed him reassuringly. He whimpered into her mouth, hesitant again, and she moved Spock out of the way. Trembling with lust, Spock stood and stepped back, watching as Chapel deftly removed McCoy's pants. She let McCoy unhook her bra and slip off her underwear before she removed his underwear too.

She kissed him one last time and slid down his body until she was level with his hips. Looking up at him, she took him into her mouth. He closed his eyes, hands scrabbling at the wall. Spock moved forward again, slowly this time. As Chapel continued to tease, Spock breathed into McCoy's ear. The doctor's eyes shot open, and for a second it seemed he would try to move away again, but he didn't, and let Spock kiss him.

"Let me," said Spock gently. He pulled Chapel upright and got on his knees. He grabbed her hip and motioned for her to spread her legs. She gasped as Spock licked her lightly, steadying herself against McCoy, who kissed her. Unable to concentrate, she simply opened her mouth to McCoy, who bit her lips and tongue.

Then Spock wrapped his hand around McCoy, who nearly fainted when, a scant moment later, Spock's lips left Chapel and found him. Spock's fingers remained with Chapel, and she and McCoy arched into each other, feeding off of their reactions as Spock worked them.

McCoy came first, broken by the new sensations and the sheer eroticism of the moment, and Chapel, ridiculously turned on by Spock and McCoy, followed him fast. When they were finished and after they had leaned up against the wall for a bit, panting like crazy, they shoved a very willing Spock onto the bed and demolished his underwear and his self-control. Together they had him begging and gasping, quite human, so raw.

As they lay back in bed, Chapel remembered the kiss that had started all of this. Spock had been so afraid of being human, of being forced into actions he did not want to enact. Now, though, he was curled up in McCoy's arms, asleep with a little frown on his face. Chapel grinned down at both of them. McCoy was already snoring. She didn't really think she was needed here. She got up and put her clothes back on. As she did, Spock's eyes flickered open. He watched her dress.

"I have duty," she whispered, kissing him on the cheek. "I'll cover for him. Let him sleep, okay?"

"I cannot promise anything," Spock whispered back, his eyes mischievous.

She paused, but couldn't resist asking.

"Why were you so—why were you so _against_ what was happening on Platonius, when they forced us to kiss? You were attracted to me, weren't you?"

"Of course I was attracted to you. I did not—" Spock made a face. "I did not approve of the situation. I did not like being manipulated into kissing you. I did not like you quite so much, then." He blushed faintly green and looked away from her. "I saw you two, in the engine room, the first time you had intercourse. That… awakened my interest."

Chapel grinned. "That makes sense." She reached down to tweak his ear. "I take it you like McCoy a little better than me, anyway?" Spock's blush deepened. "It's alright," she said. "I understand. As long as you let me watch occasionally, I'm completely fine with it."

She started to leave, but he stopped her. "Why were _you_ so against what was happening on Platonius?" he asked seriously. "You seemed unhappier than I."

She bit her lip. "I think—I felt like they were making fun of me. Well, they _were_ making fun of me. I didn't like that. Like you said, I didn't like being manipulated into kissing you. I wanted you to _want_ to kiss me. I didn't want you to have that expression like you wanted to die."

"I understand."

At the door, she turned back one more time.

"Take care of him," she said, smiling as the door closed.

Spock tried to turn over to face McCoy, but McCoy's arm was wrapped too tightly around his chest, and Spock did not want to wake him. Instead, he clasped his hand around McCoy's fingers and burrowed under the covers a bit more before falling quite happily asleep.

In sickbay, Chapel had the Best Shift Ever. She was sore, sweaty, and could barely wear underwear without twitching whenever she had to walk somewhere, but when Kirk strode in and asked where Spock and McCoy are, and she answered him with a wide-eyed "I'm not sure, sir," and a wink, they shared a quick smile. Humming to herself, she did hypospray inventory and imagined hundreds of nights of those two men keeping her warm in the dark of space.

x

_I would give—_anything_—to be Chapel. You know you want to review and _then_ head off to your bunk_.


	10. Blood and Bones

Don't you think the crew is traumatized by the _Narada_ incident? The following is one of their reactions to what has happened.

Warning for gore, violence, and surrealism.

x

**Blood and Bones**

x

He picks up her hand, and one of the fingers falls off. He is wearing gloves to make sure no crimson blood taints his skin. He places the hand carefully next to its arm, retrieves the finger, and replaces that, too. He squeezes the digit as he puts it down, feeling the careless give of the sloughing skin. This is what death feels like.

Jim, by his side, is pale as clouds, his throat working as if he is about to vomit his heart out.

"That's _her_?" Jim whispers, gazing at the corpse. "She doesn't—she can't be."

"The body is a jigsaw puzzle," he says, voice sharp like ice. "You cut it up, and put it back together."

"Quit being so _logical—_it's more than that, for humans," Jim tries to say, but he cuts Jim off.

"It is _nothing_ more than that," he insists. "The body is a countable number of cells and organs and muscles. The body has a beginning and an ending." He sees her, alive in his mind's eye, curly tomato-red hair and wide eyes, skin like a witch's, that sterile green. And he sees her dead as she is now, the same hair and eyes and skin, and the lack of difference must be hitting Jim as hard as it is hitting him. Bodies are the same everywhere, alive or dead. He is a body. He is only blood and bone.

He imagines himself torn apart. He sees his own fingers ripped from their knuckles. A satisfying pop as the bones separate. Individual capillaries, thin threads, hanging out of his meat, sobbing blood. The blunt slice of a scalpel down his backbone, exposing his spinal column. The glistening bunch of nerves, humming in fear, screaming up the synapses towards his twitching brain as bone shards slice into them. Eyeballs, filled with gray fluid, folding under the cut of a knife, the cornea split down the middle, the blue iris falling inwards to land feather-like on his rods and cones, which have stopped transmitting colors and shapes.

"Stop—please stop," Jim whispers as Jim stares at his thoughts, grasping his arm, but he cannot stop, will not, he keeps projecting the images and keeps forcing Jim to watch them. His intestines, their gleaming coils spewing their bile into the cavity of his ribs, ribs like too many fingers reaching around him, long fingers like accusing lips, lips stripped of their sensitive skin and reduced to leaking muscle, muscles stretched too-tight over bright, splintering bone…

"We are _nothing_," he spits at Jim, throwing the pictures at Jim, trying to show Jim this proof of their mortality, this indisputable evidence that neither of them are any more than parts in a machine.

"We are something!" Jim cries, looking away from the hateful images. "We are _more_ than the sum of our parts—what else makes us what we are?"

Gaila's body rots in front of his eyes. It was already pieces and pieces, and now it is lumps and lumps, thick and fleshy and smelling of shameful corners in shadowed cities. The dream-reality is unraveling. Jim's face collapses into that of Nero, baring Nero's teeth, and he feels the hate surging in him again, roaring upwards like a hurricane tide. Everything else has fallen away, and he is balancing in blackness, the Romulan growling like an animal as he approaches, clenching a long, cruel sword in his tattooed fist.

Nero stabs once, the blade sinking through his stomach like a pebble dropping through water. His muscles clench impossibly around the sword, drawing it in as if it is penetrating him sexually, and Nero has to fight to pull it out. Nero stabs him again, through the heart, and he can see his own valves and arteries fluttering, the left aorta pumping useless spurts of life into the stillness and uselessness of the void.

He is taking so much pleasure in his deconstruction. He is screaming and arching as the sword stabs into him again and again. He jerks roughly as the blade flirts over his jugular, moaning. The nearness of death is sweet. He understands death, for a pure moment; he understands why he wants this so badly. Death is _spreading. _Death is becoming more than you are; becoming different; becoming new.

"Yes," he pants, his voice heavy with passion. The sword is wavering over his neck. "Please," he pleads. He needs to feel the cut—the final glorious fountain of blood—

It is Jim that slashes downwards, Jim whose sword pierces his throat. Not Nero. He dies, blood pouring from the broken dam of his body, bone creaking to a final halt as his futile motions cease. The last thing he sees before he wakes is Jim, running his tongue along the sword's dripping length, lapping up his blood, reveling in his spirit's taste.

He sits straight up in bed. There is no veil between waking and sleeping for him. He is in sickbay, laid out on a biobed. The sounds of diagnosis and life-support flit to his ears, and the scent of antiseptic is heavy in his nostrils.

"You looked like you needed a nap," a voice says. "Here's the inventory for cabinet C." Chapel is handing him a PADD. He initials the form distractedly and passes it back to her. "Commander Spock has been looking for you," Chapel adds before sweeping away.

Bones pushes two fingers against the side of his neck, searching for his pulse, hunting for the reassuring pump of blood. When he finds it, he breathes again, and gets up, and goes on with his day.

x


	11. Milwaukee

Somebody was like, I NEED K/S SHORE LEAVE FLUFF, and I was like, I CAN DO ZAT, so I did (zat).

x

**Milwaukee**

x

Kirk and Spock are at a park, eating ice cream.

Kirk doesn't think he understands what is happening. He's at a park, with his boyfriend, eating ice cream. It's like he's in second grade or something. Or heaven. He can't figure out which, and it's kind of driving him crazy. Still, he's not complaining. Especially because he's managed to get Spock into acceptable human clothing—a Hurley t-shirt and cargo shorts, and _oh_, those plaid boxers underneath it all. And flip-flops. Spock is wearing fucking flip-flops. Leather ones, from American Eagle. And the bracelet Kirk picked out for him. The hemp one. With the little pooka shell woven into its center.

He looks like a Satanic surfer boy. Kirk is _loving_ this.

"How's the gelato?" Kirk asks. Spock is eating his cookie dough carefully (_He got cookie dough_, Kirk thinks, _If he gets any more adorable I shall simply _burst). He looks up at Kirk, slightly cross-eyed, the little red plastic spoon stuck halfway in his mouth.

"It is very tasty," Spock says solemnly.

Kirk wants to squee.

They watch a dad and like eighteen billion four to six year old girls chase after a squirrel (that is, the girls chase the squirrel, and the dad chases the girls, and it all ends up in and around a very tall oak that the squirrel perches himself gargoyle-like at the top of and the dad has to yank all eighteen billion four to six year old girls off of the tree by the handful, and damn does that squirrel have a great sense of humor). A bichon frisé dives into the pond, followed shortly by her angry owner. A frog accidentally lands on a robin, who basically has a heart attack, judging by the wing-whacks the poor frog receives. Kirk giggles through most of this.

"The temperature is dropping," Spock says, placing his empty gelato cup carefully on the rock next to him. (They are nestled up against a smallish hill that overlooks most of the park.) Kirk isn't watching as Spock disappears from his peripheral; the dad is attempting to get the eighteen billion four to six year old girls back into his Prius-slash-clown car and Kirk is quite amused by their frenzied antics. He shivers unconsciously as a suddenly fierce breeze gnaws around him. And then something very toasty is being draped over him, something cushy and vanilla-scented and thick. He jumps a bit and looks up at Spock, who is wrapping a soft fleece jacket around his shoulders.

Kirk starts to say, "Honey, this is wonderful! Thank you so much. You're so sweet for thinking to bring a jacket with you," but goes with, in the end, "Ooh. Warm," and buries his nose in the sleeves he tucks into his palms. Spock actually chuckles a bit and wraps his arms around Kirk. Spock is just freakishly hot, like an exploding stove, or maybe a game show seat, but really like a small, flesh-encased sun. Kirk leans into him. Spock kisses him on the forehead.

"This is the best shore leave _ever_," burbles Kirk. A goddamn bluejay flits onto his shoulder, pipes a bar of song into his left ear, and wings away.

"It is the middle of winter in Milwaukee," says Spock. "You undoubtedly had a more pleasing time on Gloriosus IV, the beach planet, or Vider, the planet of strip clubs."

Kirk pouts. "I wasn't with you when we visited Gloriosus IV, and you refused to go into any of the strip clubs on Vider," he says. "So, I'm stuck with mid-winter Milwaukee as my number one fave. Don't complain. This is pretty great. There are _birds_ and shit. And gelato. The ice cream is real important to the libidinous milieu. Or, rather, the sexy atmosphere. "

"Birds have naturally evolved on many planets—"

"And the lake helps. Ah, ah! Don't tell me there are lakes on other planets. I _know_ there are lakes on other planets. I'm just saying, this planet's lakes are particularly spectacular. Even the little ones that are basically seventy-foot puddles with sixty feet of cattail are awesome just because they're _here_."

Spock clearly does not feel like arguing with Kirk at his most illogical. He merely closes his mouth, sits back, and hikes his eyebrows to about midway up his forehead. Kirk leans into his chest, listening for the distant, familiar thump of Spock's heartbeat.

"I'm so proud that you're wearing my old clothes," Kirk grins. Spock gives him a Look.

"You hid my uniform," Spock says rather petulantly. "I had nothing else to wear."

"You could have gone starkers."

"I wished to leave the house, Jim. I had no choice but to accept the apparel forced so unfairly upon me."

"Oh, sob, sob. There are children wearing Wal-Mart in China, as my mom used to s—mph!"

Spock, once more, is tired of Kirk's illogical ramblings. He shuts him up with a firm kiss.

After a while, he takes pity on Kirk and draws back. Kirk collapses, rather bonelessly, against the hillside. He is faintly purple. "Mlgh," he articulates lustily, drawing air into his parched lungs. Spock is not one for moderation, or oxygen.

"Hotel?" says Spock.

"Mmm," agrees Kirk in a breathless purr.

"Thrusters on full," says Spock, hefting Kirk into his arms. As Spock runs him down the hillside, Kirk can't help but make phaser noises, _pew-pew-pew_-ing at the trees.

Spock really wants to tell Kirk that he's _so damn cute_ but fucks him stupid back at the hotel room instead, which is the same thing, anyway.

x

[at this point I was about to post it, but then reCAPTCHA said: "demand hiccups." So I thought, why not?]

Kirk hiccuped.

"Excuse me?" said Spock, lowering the _New York Times_. It was the next morning, and they were sprawled out in bed (or rather, Kirk was sprawled like a unwound Slinky, and Spock was seated, stiff-backed as the Queen).

"Oop. Sorry. The HIC bagel I had for HIC breakfast is getting to HIC me." Kirk pauses. HIC. "How's your HIC paper?"

"What is wrong with your voice?" Spock demands.

"I have the hicHICcups," says Kirk. "Don't Vulcans HIC get hiccups?"

"No—wait. Perhaps I have heard of them. Are they an unfortunate spasming of the diaphragm caused by a large intake of air?"

"Uh. HIC. Yeah?"

"Ah. I know the cure."

"HIC, what—" Suddenly Spock is quite wowingly on top of him. The short little gasps Spock eventually elicits from Kirk calm his twitching interior muscles.

"I should get the hiccups more often," pants Kirk afterwards, a bit embarrassed about getting so _much_ semen on the sheets. He briefly considers having less sex in hotel rooms, and then figures that that's what hotel rooms are _for_, and also, Spock (who is a reason unto himself), and decides just to leave a fifty credit tip for the maid.

Spock, who is trying to find the Weekend Arts section (it turns out to be under the mini-bar), merely comments that uncontrolled bodily tics are generally to be avoided and settles back into an armchair.

Kirk starts to reply, but evidently his body isn't quite finished with him. When he opens his mouth, a giant HIC comes out.

Spock, once more, lowers his paper.

"What a HIC shame," crows Kirk, waggling his eyebrows. "Looks like you'll HIC have to cure me again. HIC."

Spock glances downwards, and then back at Kirk.

"It looks as if I am prepared to do so," says Spock, and Kirk thanks every god he can think of for the incredibly short Vulcan refractory period, and, shortly thereafter, for the incredibly long Vulcan anatomy.

x

_God knows why I chose Milwaukee. I'm not even sure what state it's in._

_Okay, that's a lie, sorry Wisconsin, but, yeah. My mind is a puzzle, even to me._


	12. This Mortal Coil

Inspired, despite how horrible it is, by _Star Trek V_. I at least liked what they said about family. As for a plot description, well: The bridge crew of the _USS Enterprise_ would die bravely, every last one of them. Warning: character deaths. Gen—no slash, no pairings at all.

x

**This Mortal Coil**

x

There is some comfort in dying surrounded by one's children.

—Ann Radcliffe

Bones: I thought you said men like us don't have families.

Kirk: I was wrong.

—_Star Trek V: The Final Frontier_

x

_One: McCoy._

"I… I thought I was gonna die," McCoy coughs. There is blood dripping from his mouth and ears. The sword that has been thrust through the middle of him is barbed and cannot be removed. Kirk is fumbling at the medkit, but he knows there is nothing he can do.

"You will not die," Spock promises, trying and failing to preserve his cool mask. He is leaning over McCoy, his uniform covered in McCoy's blood. It is him, his dying CMO, and Kirk, in the burned-out ruins of the Romulan command center. The machine that was going to destroy the space station and all of its ten thousand inhabitants has been demolished, and its Romulan controllers are dead. But one was alive enough to run McCoy through as McCoy fired on the machine.

"I'm glad I'm not alone," McCoy whispers. Kirk has abandoned the medkit by now and is leaning over McCoy, his hand touching McCoy's cheek. McCoy's fingers are wrapped around Kirk's wrist, and Spock is holding McCoy's shoulder, so that they form a triangle.

"You'll never be alone, Bones," whispers Kirk. He presses a chaste kiss to McCoy's forehead, and Spock strokes McCoy's cheek with the hand McCoy is holding onto.

"You will never be alone," Spock repeats.

"Thank you," McCoy says, his voice weak, and he is gone.

x

_Two: Spock._

"The vaccine," says Spock, holding the vial out to the elders. "Send it to your labs for replication. It should cure the infected population with great rapidity."

The elders bow to him. "We thank you for bringing it to us," they say as one. "We thank you for your life."

Spock bows to them. "The continuation of your race is more important than a single life," he says easily. "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."

"Or the one," say the elders. They gaze into the sky, listening with their strange power to the voices on board the _Enterprise_. "Your crew did not know that Vulcans were susceptible to the disease. They allowed you to go because they thought you would have more resistance, not less."

Spock touches his communicator, which he has turned off. "I could not risk their lives," Spock says. "Vulcans are either unaffected, or very badly affected, depending a varying set of genes, while humans would become sick no matter what. There was no way of knowing if I had those genes or not, so I told them that I would be safe." He followed their gaze into the sky. For a moment, he wished he could be up there, back on the ship, but his place was here, with these elders, helping to save lives.

"They are sad for you," say the elders. "Yet they express it strangely—with anger. They are shouting and cursing, but there is water falling from their eyes."

"Humans are a most illogical species," says Spock. He feels the weakness seeping into his bones and sits on the ground before the elders. "After the disease has passed from me, return my body to the _Enterprise_."

"We will do so," say the elders, watching as he lays down, the energy draining from his muscles so that he can no longer hold himself up. He did not expect it to be this fast, but there is nothing he can do.

"Live long and prosper," he tells them, and after a time he dissolves into sleep, and long after that, his breathing fades and his heartbeat ceases.

x

_Three: Chekov._

Scotty and Chekov are laughing over what Sulu has just said. They are down in Engineering, playing poker, and Chekov and Sulu think Scotty is cheating because he's winning so much.

Kirk comes over the intercom and asks for more power as the ship goes to red alert. Sulu rushes back to the bridge, but Chekov stays to help Scotty, who can only give Kirk more power if he connects a couple of lines in the backup drive. Scotty asks Chekov if he can get the switch in Jeffries tube 37.8 turned to blue, and Chekov says he can. Scotty coaxes the engines into giving Kirk warp nine. But they need more, Kirk says. If they don't accelerate to ten, their pursuers will close and destroy the ship.

Scotty knows that Chekov has heard what Kirk said, and he runs as fast as he can towards the Jeffries tube Chekov is undoubtedly already inside. Chekov knows the ship as well as he does. Chekov knows exactly what has to be done to push the ship to warp ten.

Scotty is actually there when Chekov finally finds the right wires, yelling at him to stop, screaming that they have time. But there is no time for protective gear, no time even for gloves, or an oxygen mask—not that they would have helped. Chekov barely connects the wires before he is electrocuted. The _Enterprise_ leaps immediately to warp ten.

Scotty retires within a week. Pike himself has to come talk Kirk out of doing the same.

x

_Four: Uhura._

They need a translator.

Kirk radios up to the _Enterprise_. He clearly does not want to say what he has to say, but he can't speak the languages, and the Baaleths are about to kill thousands of Rorvian children. Spock can hear the pain in Kirk's voice. McCoy is foaming at the mouth—everybody knows the captain is badly injured. The Baaleths are not letting anybody beam down, not even a doctor. But evidently they are now willing to negotiate, so they let Kirk send for a translator.

Uhura is firm with the Baaleths, firmer than the Rorvians knew they could be. They are a proud race, but they are not human—they do not think the same way humans do. They had never considered standing up to the Baaleths before.

Things are going downhill because the Baaleths are belligerent and violent. Kirk, both of his legs broken, is away from the action, lying against a rock near the edge of the open field, wishing dearly he could help, but barely able to stay conscious. He watches as Uhura gesticulates forcefully. She is defying the Baaleths.

"No," she says coldly to their leader. "You will not shoot."

"I will do as we wish!" the Baaleth reader roars. "Fire!" His men turn their guns on the crowd of Rorvian children and Uhura and all of the Rorvians react as a single mass, screaming forwards in horror and rage. She is one of the first to fall, riddled with bullets.

The Rorvians overpower the Baaleths. A quarter of their children are dead, but more would have perished had they not acted.

Kirk will forever walk with a limp.

x

_Five: Scotty._

It is the strangest way for him to go, like this, in this ocean. He is in the middle of a sea, completely alone. He is going to drown.

He is well aware of this.

He can only float for so long. The salt is starting to crust on his hands and clothes. His phaser and communicator are long gone, lost in the storm.

He knows he didn't have to fall overboard. He knows he didn't even have to volunteer for the mission. But he had never really seen the sea before. He had never sailed it. The _Enterprise_ had to leave quickly to go save some other planet and he and Sulu and Spock had to get the grain to Yralt somehow, so they had hired a boat, which Scotty had always secretly hoped they would do anyway.

And now look where it has landed him.

The sun is so hot. His skin hurts dully, but he isn't thinking about that. He is thinking about falling overboard. It had been so stupid of him, but he was the one closest to the five sailors who had fallen into the water. He had grabbed the rope and realized that no matter how hard he could throw it, it would never reach them. So he'd thrown his own self overboard and somehow, God knows how, managed to get to them.

And somehow, God knew how that had happened, too, gotten lost in the storm.

And now, here he is, floating on the sea—flotsam, a barnacle, a patch of weed.

He has nothing else to do. He gives his heart one last beat, his lungs one last breath, and relaxes his muscles. He will go soon anyway, and he might as well go on his own terms.

The sea consumes him.

x

_Six: Kirk._

Kirk is screaming for everybody to run. He's always in charge, so they obey him, sprinting flat-out, flat-footed, up the hillside, batting frantically at the low-hanging tree branches in their way. They hear roars behind them, the vicious snarls of the haker-beast, and the short _bzzt_ sounds of phaser-fire. They are all science officers, and they have no weapons—this was supposed to be a peaceful mission.

Chekov is shepherding the people at the back, and they think he is Kirk, and Chekov thinks Kirk is leading everyone.

Kirk is behind them, firing uselessly at the haker-beast, which is bearing down on him. The team is so close to the river, but they are not going to make it if the haker-beast gets past him. He knows that it does not have much interest in a single human, especially one so fearless. It wants all of the humans, and it is large enough to kill every one of them in seconds, if it reaches the fleeing crowd.

It starts to pass him, but Kirk cannot let it do that. He throws himself on its tail and it turns, howling, and picks him up. He fires into its hand and it howls again, but is still not injured, even at a close range.

Kirk scrabbles desperately at the claws surrounding him, but the haker-beast is too large, and too angry, and too hungry.

It bites off his head.

x

_Seven: Sulu_

Sulu stares at the readout.

"Priority shifted to alpha one," he repeats hollowly into the comm. His voice echoes around the empty shuttle. Uhura takes a moment to respond, and when she does so, it is in a different done of voice than he has ever heard her use.

"The captain will not give the order," she says softly.

Sulu closes his eyes.

"Hikaru." It's Kirk's voice. He's joined the channel. Oh, God, Kirk is calling him by his first name. "You don't have to do this."

"I don't have any choice," says Sulu, staring at the screen. The guns are about to fire; he has to act now. "It was an honor serving with all of you."

"Hikaru," whispers Uhura. "Hikaru, please—"

Sulu cuts off the radio and presses the shuttle controls before he can talk himself out of it. He spirals downwards, in a tailspin, and goes out in fire.

They cannot even estimate how many lives he saved.

x


	13. Exclaimation Point

On a gigantic high from seeing _Star Trek_ again, twice. For the sixth—and seventh—time. In costume. With a thousand cheering college students. God, life is _good_.

So, in the TOS episode _The Enemy Within_, Kirk gets split into two people, one good, one evil. I'm totally sure somebody has written this story before—how could you _not_?—but what if the same happened to Spock? (This fic is more comedic than the actual episode—ohmygod, rapist!Kirk?! Just as creepy as rapist!Chekov [see _Day of the Dove_]. What the fuck, TOS.) This story is, of course, **K/S**(/S), and also, I spent time a ton of time reading stuff by rageprufrock before writing this (eventually I'll post a link to her page on my eljay, which is cable69, fyi), which explains the _mad_ writing style I'm employing. Yes, the title of this fic is _!_.

THE FOLLOWING IS CRACK. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

x

**!**

x

Kirk is in his room getting hypothetical papercuts from the sheer amount of documentation he has to do when Chekov blusters through the door and comes to a wheezing halt in front of Kirk's desk and says something that makes Kirk's mind go, "!"

"_Two_ of them?" he protests weakly at Chekov. "A goddamn _pair_?"

"Yes, sir," says Chekov, eyes so wide he's evidently trying to eat Kirk with them; _Weird image, brain_, Kirk thinks at his mind, but all it's saying is, "!!"

Kirk sits back hard, feeling his spine crunch against his chair and _really_ not caring. "Okay. Well. And they're doing _what_, right now?"

"Arguing, sir," says Chekov, and Kirk will be damned if "arguing" doesn't sound like about a zillion other things, namely words like "fucking" and "macking." "We are afraid to approach zem. We have put zem in room four forty sewen out of concern for our own safety. They are arguing wociferously, sir. And also dangerously. One of them threw a chair at the other."

"Arguing," Kirk repeats faintly, to make sure he's got it right and there really isn't any fucking or macking going on. A faint breeze could blow him over, about now, just from the mental images.

"Yes, sir. _Arguing_," Chekov confirms, enunciating the word through his ridiculous accent.

"Okay." Kirk rubs his forehead, unsure of basic things like left and right at this point. "Okay. Great. I'll deal with it, Ensign. Thanks."

"You are welcome, Keptin."

As soon as Chekov leaves, Kirk clutches at his twitching heart and tries to convince it not to implode. He's still thinking something along the lines of "!!!" but now his mind has added shit like "!!!!" and "omgbbq" and "!!!!!" and he needs to find his own off switch very badly and really shouldn't go see this.

But since he hates himself or something and also because he's the captain and _should_ be dealing with this shit, he does have to go see this.

So Kirk gets bravely out of his chair, walks out from behind his desk, and trips all the fuck over the corner of his bed. He recovers with minimal cursing and makes his way out the door and down the corridor without crippling himself. He takes a deep, concentrated breath when he comes to the right room and tosses himself inside. He does all of this with a purposeful step, but his hands are twitching rather distinctly.

"Commander Spock," he starts to say, but the words perish in his throat.

Chekov was not lying. There are two of them. Two Spocks. Standing there. Next to each other.

Kirk's mind adds another couple of !'s to its previous conjectures, raising the exclamation mark tally to somewhere around eleventy-three kajillion.

He actually feels his blood make a run for his manly bits and tries to restrain it, but for the love of god, there are _two_ of them, what the hell else is he supposed to do other than grow a third leg? Everybody, probably including that bastard Chekov (kid is too smug anyway) knows the captain is stupid in love with his first officer. They're all probably laughing their flat asses off imagining him trying to deal with this. It'll be funny later, Kirk's sure, but right now? _Horrifyingly awesome._

Trying not to gulp audibly, Kirk attempts to shield his overexcited crotchular area by stepping smoothly behind a table. His confidence sneaks back a bit when he fails to trip over anything, so he takes a more legitimate look at the two Spocks, having regained power over his eyeballs.

The one on the right is taller than the one on the left, which is the first weird thing (okay maybe not the first, _dear god_, but definitely one of the initial ones). Kirk is sure that if he averaged their heights, he'd get the height of the original Spock. The one on the right has delicate, pointed ears and harshly upcurved brows. He is stiff as a rock, his hands laced tightly behind his back. His expression is almost hatefully blank: it is as if he is trying to express that he loathed any emotion whatsoever with a painful passion, and how did Spock manage to put a paradox on his face like that?

The Spock on the left, well. Kirk blinks at him.

The Spock on the left is _smiling_. Okay, it's a tiny smile, but it's still a smile. A goddamn _grin. _A bleeding _smirk_.

The Spock with the facial expression (what was that _about_, no seriously) has uncurved ears. And normal eyebrows. And the aforementioned simper. Well, not _simper_, per se, but Kirk is out of decent synonyms for 'smile.' The Spock with the facial expression is oh so clearly a human. He's curved and rounded and softer than the other Spock, warmer and gentler, and his lips are full.

"_What_ is going on?" begs Kirk. "Didn't you get split into good and evil? Like me, that one time?"

"I hypothesize that we were divided into our Vulcan and human forms during the transporter accident," says Vulcan-Spock, with less expression than a chunk of granite. "A fortunate occurrence, since we would not be overly pleased to meet our evil counterpart."

"Says you," says human-Spock, giving Vulcan-Spock a 'get the fuck outta here' look, and Kirk immediately decides that he likes the human-Spock a lot better, at least because human-Spock doesn't make Kirk feel like something eighty steps down the evolutionary ladder. "It'd be really scientifically interesting to meet the evil side of yourself. Instead all we get is the other species. And I already know what you're like. You're the one in charge most of the time."

"In _charge_? That accusation implies that you—" Vulcan-Spock quiets himself with effort, and Kirk finds this preposterously sexy. "You are always like this, you know. Sitting in the back of my mind, quietly pushing me towards the brink of insanity."

"Insanity?" cries human-Spock, his indignation producing spastic hand gestures. "The brink of _fun!_ You have such a great sense of humor but you're always like, 'Hurr, let's go enforce the rules, hurr.' You even ignore the _awesome science_ we find sometimes in order to—I don't even _know_! Be _logical_ and shit!"

"What," articulates Kirk, adding _Did Spock just say "logical and shit"_ to his thoughts of _!_:ad infinitum.

"This is _his_ fault," says Vulcan-Spock to Kirk, gesticulating proudly-but-accusingly at human-Spock.

"Fuck you!" pouts human-Spock, making full use of those full lips (_asldbuiasdfnabfh_, thinks Kirk).

"This is neither the time nor the place," says Vulcan-Spock, prim as a peach.

And now Kirk and human-Spock are full-out drooling at Vulcan-Spock.

"There_ is_ a time and a place?" human-Spock says, his face doing a total one-eighty expression-wise and developing something of a lustful pant. Kirk agrees verbally with this statement by making a noise somewhere between a whoop and a whimper.

"I will not dignify that with an answer," sniffs Vulcan-Spock, placing his nostrils in the air.

"Okay, remember back at the Academy?" says human-Spock, taking a couple of long steps towards Vulcan-Spock, who is giving human-Spock a "what the fuck are you doing, you insect" look. "When we took that sociology class? And we had that unit on narcissism? I remember us thinking, 'It would be fun to make out with myself,' and then feeling so guilty for the thought that we had to meditate for like a year."

"Uh," Kirk contributes helpfully. They are both ignoring him more completely than he has ever been ignored in his life and it's kind of bothering him, but all of the corbomite in the world could not bring him to interrupt this.

"The action would be incestuous," says Vulcan-Spock stiffly. He looks wary, all of a sudden, like human-Spock is cornering him into something and he knows it. "We must work on a cure for whatever has occurred to us. As we did with the captain, we can attempt to cross the annular confinement beam over the biofilter—"

"No, it would be masturbatory. And crossing the annular confinement beam over the biofilter would be as pointless as rewiring the Heisenberg compensator to work through the multiplex pattern buffer instead of the phase transition motherboard. You can't just ignore the primary energizing coils," chides human-Spock, and Kirk really and seriously has never been this turned on. "None of that is the point. The point is, we should make out because we'll never get this opportunity again."

All Vulcan-Spock can manage is, "That is highly illogical."

"Why?" says human-Spock, giving Vulcan-Spock The Eyebrow like never before.

"Because," whimpers Vulcan-Spock, quite defeated. Kirk is basically on the ground, he has melted so hard from the hotness. Human-Spock is obscenely close to Vulcan-Spock; they're doing that not-touching-so-close-to-each-other-that-they-_are_-touching,-like,-psychically thing, and has Kirk mentioned how much of a puddle of muh he is?

"Captain," says human-Spock, _totally_ unexpectedly. He's not even looking at Kirk but Kirk is sure as fuck looking at him. "Do you think my counterpart and I should take this opportunity to, er, go forth and kink… _for science_, as it were?"

"Anything for science," Kirk gabs, amazed he can even form words in his now-liquid form.

"As long as it is for science," Vulcan-Spock says stolidly, and they're kissing.

Kirk's mind gives up on the !'s and moves on to having little neurological seizures.

It's… Kirk doesn't even _know_. They're fucking _eating_ each other, there's so much anger and sexual need in there. The Vulcan is biting at the human's lips, and tearing at the human's thicker hair, and the human is trying to fight back, shoving his tongue wherever it can reach and clawing at the Vulcan's back, but the Vulcan is having none of this and shoves the human up against the wall, and as the human collides with it Kirk lets out another noise that doesn't make sense, and the Vulcan hears it and releases the human and turns around and both Vulcan and human Spock are staring at Kirk and Kirk is probably going to wake up any second now seeing as how he has never, ever wanted to stay in a dream this badly.

"Come," both Spocks say, fire in their eyes, and Kirk flies across the room to hover woefully, worshipfully in front of them.

"_Can_ I?" he whispers reverently. "Join you?" He feels like he shouldn't be here: this is something the two Spocks should really have to deal with on their own, since this whole situation is so obviously private and raw and, like human-Spock said earlier, positively masturbatory.

"Of course you can," says human-Spock, smiling to the very tips of his ears.

"Most certainly," says Vulcan-Spock, looking deep, deep down into Kirk's eyes, and Kirk changes his mind: human-Spock may be a novelty, a really fun new toy, but it's Vulcan-Spock that Kirk loves, Vulcan-Spock that Kirk would choose over any other being in the world.

"Why?" says Kirk, and instantly wants to slap himself for interrupting this.

"Because you will never again have this opportunity either," Vulcan-Spock says.

"Although you'll have half of it as many times as you want, from now on," human-Spock adds. "It's about time you know that we love you."

"You do?" Kirk warbles.

"Significantly more than you can imagine," says Vulcan-Spock, failing utterly to blink.

"I can imagine quite a l—" Kirk starts before they both lean down to prove him wrong.

x


	14. Proof

The prompt for this is just about as long as the fill. "Bones questions an incredibly embarrassed Spock about his intentions towards Kirk. This leads, eventually, to Spock asking how exactly gay sex WORKS. Because evidently, no one ever told him. In fact, Uhura was the one to tell him how heterosexual sex works. And when Spock first hears how it works, he doesn't believe bones. So Bones turns to The Internet for proof. Not necessary, but bonus points if Spock still doubts him and Bones ends up asking another person onboard the enterprise with Spock just for clarification. I don't care whether or not sexy times happy, I just want to see flustered parental/older brother ish Bones and prudishly raised Spock."

GUYS DO NOT DO WHAT MCCOY DOES IT IS SO NSFW (not that i would know *koff*)

(oh also yeah google image search = probably not around in the 23rd century, but, you know, whatever.)

ok. fic. K/S, obviously, and also craaaack.

x

**Proof**

x

Bones has done this before—but just once, and he promised himself he would never do it again. Narrowing his eyes so that as few as possible of the images would be visible, he types in the phrase and hits "Enter."

At his shoulder, Spock actually gasps.

"So, that's gay sex for ya," says Bones, still looking away from the computer screen. He has just Google Image searched "anal sex" and knows the results aren't pretty. Well, they are pretty, but he isn't very into porn, and a majority of the vid porn he has ever seen has been Chekov's, and that had been a really… interesting… night, and _anyway_, "What do you think?" he asks Spock.

"This… looks highly… uncomfortable," says Spock reluctantly, squinting at the screen. He frowns and actually sits down in front of the computer. Bones wants to die when Spock enlarges one of the pictures.

Spock raises an eyebrow as he contemplates the photograph before him. "I believe most of these pictures have been digitally manipulated," he says confidently. "I continue to doubt the veracity of your claim."

Bones gapes at him.

"It's right here!" he shrieks at Spock. "Look at what they're doing! It's… it's biologically feasible!"

Spock turns the eyebrow on Bones. "If the Internet says so, it must be true?" he says with that dry sarcasm of his.

"But—this—_proof_—"

"I suppose you will be wanting to show me the Wikipedia article next?"

Bones splutters for a bit while Spock gazes at him impassively.

"Okay. Fine. I'll get someone else to explain it to you." He grabs Spock's arm and drags him all the way down to medbay, where Nurse Chapel is doing hypospray inventory.

"Nurse Chapel," he says, tone strident. "Would you mind explaining something to Commander Spock?"

Chapel gazes at Spock expressionlessly. _They could give each other a run for their money_, Bones thinks. "Yes, doctor?" she says, sounding quite disinterested.

"Homosexual intercourse," says Bones loudly. The other nurses and lab assistants blink at them. Spock turns slightly green. Chapel, however, doesn't blink.

"I take it this concerns your romantic feelings towards the captain?" she says impassively to Spock.

Spock splutters just like Bones did earlier. Inordinately pleased by this, Bones leaves them to it. He has to go back and erase the history on his computer. And also, bleach his brain.

x

Bones is blearily pouring two ounces of cream into three ounces of coffee when arms encircle him from behind. "You are the most awesome person in the ENTIRE WORLD," Kirk proclaims, hugging Bones tightly. "I seriously just had the best night in the history of anything. My ass is sore like you would NOT believe."

"Dammit, Jim, I just _woke up_," Bones growls, batting Kirk away. "And anyway, it was Nurse Chapel that did most of the explainin'." He twists around to glare at Kirk. "Not that I want to know, but I take it Spock acted on her… advice?"

"Acted on it? _Acted_ on it?" cries Kirk, repulsively pleased with the world at large. "He reinvented the GENRE. He's gonna win an Oscar for Best Performance. Have I _mentioned_ how much my ass hurts?"

"Yes, and please, for the sake of our everlovin' God, _stop_ mentionin' it."

"I have to go find Christine and promote her to second officer."

"That's not gonna make Scotty very happy!" Bones calls to Kirk's retreating back.

"Scotty wasn't the one who explained what the 'prostate' was to my first officer yesterday! See you later!"

A couple of new ensigns get surprised expressions on their faces when they hear this shouted across the room, but the rest of the crew in the mess looks resigned. Bones seriously considers transferring to another ship, but decides it would be too much effort. Also, he's got his medical staff here thoroughly cowed. He goes back to his coffee.

Bones spots Spock a few minutes later, a ridiculously smug look on his face as he picks up his usual breakfast salad from the replicators. Spock crosses to him and sits down in front of him, the self-satisfied look melting and being replaced by a contrite one.

"Doctor McCoy, I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to you for not believing what you said about anal sex. As you are undoubtedly aware, the practice is in fact—"

"Spock, it's fine. I forgive you completely. I'll forgive you even more if you stop apologizing to you, and if you somehow convince Jim not to _ever_ talk to me about his sex life again."

"I will do my best, doctor," says Spock. He pauses to take a dainty bite of carrot and spinach. He adds, just as Bones is downing a huge gulp of coffee, "I have learned a few techniques that are sure to, as you would say, 'shut him up' for _quite_ some time."

Bones's spit-take is magnificent.

x


	15. Christmas Cold

My reader and LJ friend the_arc5 posted a Christmas wish list, and first on that list was a fluffy, happy Christmas fic. When I asked her to elaborate a bit on the plot she'd like, here's what she gave me—

_Okay, um...Star Trek is a good fandom... I like Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and permutations thereof. The OT3 is my happy place, but any pairing using those three is awesome. Prompt...uh... I'm a big fan of the Character A is sick and Character B takes care of them setup because of LOVE (__and possibly sexytiems)__. I also love Christmas shenanigans. And...tribbles?_

Sadly, I didn't get to the sexytiems, but the rest is there. Enjoy!

x

**Christmas Cold**

x

Everybody was surprised that Kirk saw it before Bones did.

"I'm s'posed to be the one to notice sickness," Bones grumbled as he read Spock's life signs. "I'm a doctor, not… _useless_." It was about six in the morning (although you couldn't tell from looking outside, since the _Enterprise_ was currently in deep space), and Bones was not in a very good mood.

"You are not useless," said Kirk mildly, staring down at Spock, who was fast asleep on the biobed. "You just weren't on the bridge when he started coughing. What has he got? Why did he fall asleep so quickly?"

"Not sure yet…" said Bones distractedly, a crease appearing between his brows. "Nurse Chapel, run a standard diagnostic while I pull up his charts."

Spock had been sick for a while now, Bones realized, and Kirk had known it because Kirk, somehow, knew _everything_ (and it was a _damn_ annoying trait). Bones had been stressed recently: their last on-planet mission had gone less than well, and eight security officers had been holed up in sickbay for the past week recovering from an impressive array of wounds, poisons, lung damage, and psychological traumas; the last one had been released yesterday. And in his free time, he'd been trying to organize Christmas presents for everybody—today was Christmas Eve. He _should_ have noticed that Spock, as Kirk described, ate exactly a third of the usual amount of food he had for breakfast, was only 2.4 minutes early for his most recent shift rather than his usual average of 8.7, sustained REM sleep for over twelve hours a day, and had requested two boxes of tissue from the Deck Seven replicator the previous morning. He was around the damn Vulcan enough nowadays that he should have caught these things.

Bones and Chapel consulted while Kirk paced. Finally Bones came back, a grim expression on his face.

"What is it?" said Kirk, his heart fluttering. "What's wrong?"

"He's got—" Bones paused heavily to check his chart. "Jim, he has… _a cold_."

"_What?_" Kirk nearly shouted. "That's it? You made it sound like he had… Andorian sleeping sickness, or something."

Bones laughed, his mood improved now that he knew Spock was okay. "I'm sorry. That _was_ pretty cruel of me. Still, he's gonna be outta commission for about a week. I'm confinin' him to quarters; colds spread like wildfires on ships like these, and we can't practically vaccinate for them, although I can give you a little somethin' to keep you from catchin' it."

"And why can't we cure the common cold, again?"

Bones gave Kirk an exasperated look. "Jim, I've explained this to you before. It's because the specific sterotype of the rhinovirus that causes the cold has a short lytic cycle, and you'd have to take clorpheniramine before the rhinovirus got its molecular foothold, which is basically impossible. Plus there are about a million different types of virus that cause the cold, and you'd have to formulate your vaccine or preventative treatment for each one."

Kirk blinked at him. "Listen, I took biology about twenty years ago, so I'm just going to take your word for it."

"Good idea. I'll escort our patient to his quarters. Christine, the ibuprofen?"

Chapel tossed a bottle towards Bones, who caught it. Bones turned to address Kirk formally. "Captain, I'll be in Mr. Spock's quarters 'till I'm assured of his comfort."

"Fine," grumbled Kirk. "Hourly updates, okay?"

"Ten-four," grinned Bones, and rolled the sleeping Spock out of sickbay. It was a pretty sweet deal for Bones: he got to hang around with Spock until Spock got better, since there really wasn't much else to do, and everybody got a lot of time off during Christmas anyway.

Kirk stomped back to the bridge, still in a bad mood because of the scare. He came back to find a rosy-cheeked Chekov waving mistletoe over Sulu's head as Uhura looked on, laughing. Scowling, he took a seat in the captain's seat, immediately spoiling everyone's mood.

"What's got your panties in a twist?" Uhura asked, coming over and leaning against a panel near Kirk's chair.

"Spock's got a cold," grumbled Kirk. "We were going to go see the Christmas lights on Tiryn V with everybody else, but now he's under quarantine. _And_ Bones gets to take care of him while I sit up here watching Romeo and Juliet coo over each other."

"Hey," said Sulu indignantly. "We do not _coo_." Chekov nodded energetically in agreement.

"Shut up, you're positively morning doves. Anyway, I'm all bitter and unhappy." Kirk sighed dramatically and slumped in his chair.

"There is a very easy solution to all of this, and it's depressing that I have to tell you what it is," said Uhura patiently. "Get Scotty up here to take the conn. Keenser's been bugging him about getting a chance to head engineering for a while anyway. That way, you can spend time with your boyfriends before we hit Tiryn V tomorrow and you have to mope around without seeing the lights. And deal with the governor; I hear he's a bore."

Kirk got up and tried to kiss Uhura until she slapped him. "I love you," he told her feelingly as she held him at arm's length.

"I detest you," she replied, but grinned.

Kirk called Scotty to the bridge and fled to Deck Seven. He tried to go into Spock's room but ran into the door when it didn't open automatically for him.

Rubbing his head, he pressed the doorbell on the entry panel. "What the hell, Bones," he said in a polite whisper, which would be projected into the room.

"Shut up, Jim," came Bones's distinct reply. "He's still fast asleep, you idiot…" Bones trailed off and Kirk was about to say something else when the door slid noiselessly open and Bones stepped into the hallway.

"What—" Kirk started to say as the door closed, but Bones stabbed a hypospray into Kirk's neck without any warning whatsoever. Kirk actually threw a punch at Bones, but Bones, who was used to this sort of thing, ducked easily, fished around in his pocket, and fetched out another hypospray. Kirk was so affronted that Bones was able to sink the second one into his neck just as easily.

"I—I—" Kirk was too overcome with indignation. "You—"

"That," said Bones, tucking the hyposprays back in his pocket with a certain amount of smug self-satisfaction, "means that you won't get the cold. Maybe. You can thank me later."

"_Thank _you—" spluttered Kirk.

"You're welcome," said Bones graciously. "Anyway, come in. He woke up when you started screechin'."

Instead of killing Bones (and it was a near thing), Kirk stalked inside. Spock was laid straight out on his bed, like an Egyptian mummy, with his arms crossed over his chest. In place of the shepherd's crook and flail, Spock clutched a packet of tissues.

"Captain," he said formally, attempting to sit up.

"Hey," cautioned Kirk, rushing over and pushing him unceremoniously back down. "You're sick. Don't even think about it."

"Forgive me for—" Spock coughed. "—wishing to greet you."

"You sound _terrible_," said Kirk. Spock blew his nose pathetically.

"He'll just have to deal with it," said Bones unsympathetically, arms crossed at the end of Spock's bed. "Everybody gets the cold now and then."

Spock looked quite unhappy. "Most sicknesses are easily cured," he said leadingly to Bones. "Especially by…" and it looked as if it pained him to say it, "… a doctor of your caliber."

"Wow!" said Bones, clapping his hands with evil glee. "Didja hear that, Jim? A complement outta the green-blooded hobgoblin!"

"He's just trying to bribe you," laughed Kirk.

"I am merely suggesting that these common symptoms should have common antidotes," said Spock unhappily.

"They do," said Bones. "Tylenol, Kleenexes, and a good night's sleep." He paused reflectively. "You've heard of the cold, right?"

"I have heard of it, yes."

"You know it's incurable."

Spock looked quite frustrated. "But Leonard, it is clearly a very simple sickness."

"Doesn't matter." He launched into an even lengthier scientific explanation than before, loosing Kirk completely. "You got it 'cause you're part human," Bones finished. Spock looked marginally satisfied.

"How do you feel?" Kirk finally asked.

Spock considered his possible replies. After blowing his nose again, he replied stuffily, "Disgusting."

Kirk and Bones exchanged amused glances. Spock glared at them. Kirk sat on Spock's bed and wrapped his arms around Spock. His Vulcan was even warmer than normal.

"You'll feel better in a day or two," said Kirk. He pressed his lips to Spock's temple. "Want to watch a movie? Play a game? Be read a book?"

Spock sniffled. "Yes."

"Which one?" grinned Bones.

"Any of them would be… pleasurable," said Spock. Then he sneezed. "Compared to _this_."

Bones and Kirk kept Spock company for the next twenty-four hours, at which time they reached Tiryn V. The Christmas lights of Tiryn V were not your normal suburban string lights, but were instead a natural phenomenon that occurred, entirely out of nature's beautiful coincidence, only Christmas day, in the evening and early night. Spock spent about an hour explaining the reason behind the lights to Kirk, who twiddled his thumbs most of the time in some perplexity. (He could figure out that Romulans were attacking Vulcan and manage to stop them despite their having the advantage of superior weapons and technology, but wavelengths and colds were beyond him—there were no tactics involved in sniffles and lights.) The lights were an aurora, although they were more complex than the ones that appeared on Earth.

Kirk had conveniently scheduled the _Enterprise_ to pick up supplies there on Christmas Day and to stay on overnight. He supervised the loading and unloading, leaving Bones (contentedly) with (an uncontented, not to mention still sneezy) Spock. The (indeed tedious) governor of the planet had him, Scotty, Uhura, and Sulu to lunch (Chekov stayed, to command the ship in case of an emergency). Then they went to a local market to see the sights and buy presents.

Uhura was the one who found it, and Kirk would be forever in her debt.

"I'm not kidding," she said as she dragged Kirk by the sleeve towards a particularly crowded booth. "They're perfect. You have to get one."

"I've heard they're not very good on ships—"

"Get it chemically neutered or something," said Uhura. "Just _look_ at them." She elbowed her way through the crowd (Kirk thought Uhrua must not be feeling the Christmas spirit, and apologized to the people whose toes she trod on) and emerged, with Kirk, into a hollow at the front, where the product was visible.

"Oh my God," said Kirk, leaning down.

"See?" said Uhura triumphantly. "How perfect are they?"

"Ideal," said Kirk, still enraptured as he passed a few credits over to the salesman. "I'll take… _those_ two."

Back on the ship, Bones was wheeling Spock down to the Observation Deck. He had basically covered Spock in cellophane, ordered that the turbolift and corridors he used to get Spock there be cordoned off, and sprayed Lysol bleach before and after his course.

"You seem to be concerned about the spread of germs," said Spock. It was a massive understatement.

"Don't speak, you're just expellin' viruses," said Bones, drowning an innocent turbolift control panel in disinfectant. "Good thing this ship's waterproof." Once he had deposited Spock in Observation, he went back over their path with even more sterilizing solution. Kirk found him armed to the teeth with prophylactics on Deck Five.

"Hey," said Kirk. "All of the scientists on board have told me that we probably won't be able to see the lights from space. You know that, right?"

"I'm willin' to try," muttered Bones, leaning over a railing and trying to clean every individual nook and cranny of the engraving on it. "Our patient's down on the Observation Deck, and I brought all the presents along. What'd you end up gettin' him, by the way?"

"You'll see," said Kirk, grinning. Bones was slightly afraid.

Finally Kirk pried Bones away from his germicidal mission and got him down to where Spock was propped up in his bed, surrounded by tissues and looking woefully underappreciated. Kirk had only experienced Spock as an invalid a few times, and the change always surprised him: Spock went from being a calm, confident crewmember to a wide-eyed, rather passive-aggressive shut-in. Sicknesses positively did him in. Bones cleared the Kleenexes off of Spock's bed and kissed him right on the lips.

"Is that wise?" Kirk and Spock asked together.

Bones shrugged. "I take a cocktail of anti-cold drugs every week. I haven't been sick since I was twelve."

Kirk and Spock exchanged looks suggesting that Bones was mentally unstable.

They wished each other merry Christmas and exchanged presents. Kirk kept checking his watch: the Christmas lights were supposed to begin at around twenty-one hundred. He didn't think they would be visible, but it wouldn't hurt to check. They had a fantastic view of Tiryn V at any rate.

The presents Kirk had purchased on the planet were opened last. He had gotten one each for Spock and Bones, who attempted their wrapping paper cautiously, since Kirk was grinning so enthusiastically, and that was never a good sign.

Underneath the paper were very small glass cages, and inside the very small glass cages were green- and red-dyed tribbles.

If Spock had been a human female, he probably would have made a sound akin to a squee. As it was, he held the glass container for a moment in shock and then hugged it, very lightly, to his chest.

Bones nearly dropped his. He immediately depressed the lock panel on his tribble's cage and got it out. The thing snuffled a bit in his hands, warming them. When he moved it closer to his body, it snuggled against his pecs, purring.

"All together now," said Kirk, eyes bright; "_d'awwwwwwww._"

"Jim, this is… fascinating," said Spock, who had his eyes closed and was petting his tribble absently. "I… I feel… oddly relaxed."

"Yeah," said Bones distractedly. "Mmhm."

Kirk laughed, and then glanced out the window just as a flash of brilliant blue lit up the room. Spock and Bones turned to the window as well.

"Fascinating," said Spock, sitting up. "It seems that we will be able to view the Christmas lights from space."

"Science is wrong about something? Crazy," said Kirk, baiting Spock, who ignored him archly.

"Jim, you're like a small child," sighed Bones.

He and Kirk went to sit on Spock's bed with Spock between them. They leaned against each other and watched the lights as they petted the two tribbles.

"I'm still sorry you're sick, but this isn't so bad, is it?" said Kirk to Spock, who had Bones's arm around his shoulder.

"It is, in fact, quite close to perfect," said Spock. Kirk kissed his cheek.

"Good," said Bones. "So are both of you." He paused as Spock blew his nose. "Except for the germs, of course."

Kirk bit his lip to keep from laughing, and Spock nearly smiled.


	16. SEX SEX SEX

**A/N: **This is happening to me RIGHT NOW. D:

Kirk/Spock, established relationship. Summary: "It would be unwise for us to copulate within the week."

Also, this is one of my less subtle titles.

x

**SEX SEX SEX**

x

It has been two _months_ since Kirk and Spock have had sex. It has been two _months_ of complications and screw-ups and the worst goddamn timing _ever_ in the history of _anything_. First Spock got shot in the knee on Eirlan. Then Kirk went off for sensitivity training, which was a gigantic disaster. Then Spock had to finish a report for the Federation over an entirely new solar system consisting of twenty-three planets in just under a week, because the Federation were _bitches_ (according to Kirk). Then Kirk got the measles. (Bones freaked.) Then the ship got taken over by Klingons. Then they had to clean up the ship after they killed all the Klingons. Then some aliens stole Chekov and tried to use his brain to rejuvenate their race. Then Spock had to help Scotty repair the warp engines. Then Kirk had to order a shore leave because everybody was so exhausted, only the planet they landed on for shore leave turned out to be inhabited _by Klingons. _So then they had to kill all the Klingons and clean up the planet. And _then_ they got an order from Starfleet to go pick up some ambassador and escort him to some planet.

Kirk doesn't even _know_. He is too sex-starved to think straight. (Not that he thinks _straight_ very often anyway, what with Spock around.) At the moment, he is supposed to be changing in to his dress uniform, but Spock is helping him, and Christ is Spock distracting.

"Captain," says Spock in a strangled voice, his breath a prayer in Kirk's ear and his body warm, warm and inviting like a nymph's embrace.

"Okay, _precisely_," Kirk bites out. Spock is unbuckling his belt. "Shit. God. Spock. Spock, I _want_ you."

Spock makes this little noise like the world is ending. His hands cannot seem to leave Kirk's fly alone. They dance around his thighs and hips and oh god, oh god, Kirk does not have time for this.

"The Ambassador," wheezes Kirk, grabbing Spock's wrists and pulling them away from his cock. "Also, the mission to Delta Vega."

"Sir," Spock says brokenly, and Kirk has never known that note of pleading before, and if he wasn't hard already, this makes him stiff as a goddamn masthead. "It will not take long."

"_That's_ for sure," mutters Kirk, trying to push Spock away. "Why am _I_ being the responsible one here?"

He waits for Spock to reply and then realizes that he's still holding Spock's wrists tightly, and Spock, who's always had a thing for bondage, is not reacting well—that is to say, he is reacting very _firmly_—to this treatment. Kirk drops Spock's hands like hot potatoes. Spock licks his lips for a few moments and then finally seems able to speak.

"You should don your dress uniform, Captain," he says, trying for normalcy.

"Yep," mutters Kirk. "You too. Go over there." He motions grandly away.

Spock gives him a positively hangdog look and retreats to the far corner of Kirk's quarters, where Spock's own dress uniform is laid out. Kirk sheds the rest of his clothing with trembling hands. Spock watches, wide-eyed. (He has removed _his_ clothes without any trace of unease, the bastard.)

When they're both wearing just their boxers, they stare at each other across the room. Kirk's legs make all these movements to go over there, and his mind is thinking nothing but _Spock sex good take please yes want_, but he stills himself, and paints a pained smile across his face that nevertheless communicates his meaning. Spock signals back by quirking his eyebrow like _so_, and flexing his extensor muscles evocatively. Then he reaches for his own dress uniform and, with practiced ease, pulls on the pants.

Kirk is full of sighs and he sighs a few of them. Spock doesn't make a sound in reply but his expression states clearly that he agrees. He is making a meal of raking his eyes over Kirk's form, tongue darting out as he stares at Kirk's crotch, a flash of teeth as he takes in Kirk's pectorals.

Kirk thinks that he's probably going to _actually die_ in this meeting.

"Next week, okay?" he says pleadingly to Spock, who is doing up the top buttons of his uniform. "I'm sorry about the horrible timing, about all of the horrible timing. But we have the meeting, then the planet, then the conference, then the reports."

"Indeed," says Spock, who has calmed himself by now and isn't even sporting an erection (Kirk spares a spike of hatred for the irritation usefulness of Vulcan emotional—and physical—repression). "And I, like you, have important tasks to complete. And since we do not share quarters—nor should we, especially at this time—it would be unwise for us to copulate within the next week."

It's one thing to say it and another to _not_ give it a blowjob. Kirk breaks, comprehensively. "You're _sure_?" he begs shamelessly.

"I am positive," says Spock, standing stiff—only, not really—in the face of glorious sex and smacking it down like the hand of God.

"Okay," says Kirk, resigned. "Okay. Let's go met this ambassador. Where's he from?"

Spock gives him the spiel as they leave the room. Kirk's trying to listen, really he is, but Spock looks amazing in his dress uniform.

"Captain," says Spock sharply. Kirk jumps guiltily. "Where is the ambassador from?"

"Mesina," says Kirk, wildly picking a proper noun from the conversation.

Spock eyes him. "That is correct, but I do not believe you were paying attention."

"I totally was," Kirk protests. They're walking towards the turbolift by now. "Mining rights. Dilithium. Ha."

"Congratulations. You are capable of listening," says Spock sarcastically. He twists the turbolift dial to deck seven. Kirk, watching, is alarmed to see a goddamn _smirk_ spread across Spock's face. "You deserve a reward, sir."

Before he can anything, Spock has got him up against the wall and is palming his cock through his thick pants and breathing sex noises into his ear. Kirk goes completely _buh_ as Spock fucking _purrs_, licks Kirk's lips, and grinds his hip between Kirk's legs. Kirk has time for an arm-flail that tries and fails to catch Spock's shoulder blades, an involuntary pelvic thrust, and an extremely feminine noise before Spock, totally unfazed, is standing three feet away from him again and the turbolift door is sliding open to reveal the _entire bridge staring at them._

Spock merely casts Kirk a "well-Captain-are-you-coming-or-aren't-you?" look, the smug sonofabitch, and leaves the lift. Kirk offers heartfelt obscenities to a few pantheons, then tests his legs, which are less jelly-esque than he suspects. Sulu giggles. Kirk longs for the old days, when ship's captains could put disorderly sailors on latrine duty.

"Er," says Kirk articulately. "L-lieutenant Uhura, Ambassador Yeek's status?"

"Arrival in three minutes, sir," says Uhura, pronouncing the "sir" with less respect than she would grant to a slug. Kirk hates her enough to fuel the sun.

"Keep me posted," Kirk grinds out, sitting in his chair. Sulu and Chekov immediately lean over and start whispering to each other. Spock is at his station, projecting innocence. _Green-blooded hobgoblin_, Kirk thinks meanly. He issues a few commands, since he did come up here for a reason.

In two minutes and thirty-four seconds, Uhura says, "Captain, Ambassador Yeek's ship is requesting permission to dock with the _Enterprise_."

"Granted," says Kirk, standing. "The reception committee will greet him on Deck C, conference 2B. Get Bones and Scotty there."

"Yessir," says Uhura, weirdly not angry with him. He stares at her, perplexed, for a few seconds, and then realizes that she has figured out what he hasn't, which is that he's going to have to ride in the turbolift with Spock again.

Kirk actually says, "_Shit_," aloud, but thankfully it's soft and only Uhura hears him, and she gives him this "your-life-sucks-and-you-deserve-it" look, and he hates her _even more_ and hopes she gets an STD from Gaila (since he sure did). Then he gets up and looks over to Spock, who is already standing. He has this completely lecherous expression on his face, but as soon as anybody else looks at him, it melts utterly away. Kirk's pretty interested in killing something by this point.

When he gets into the turbolift with Spock he is so worked up that when Spock tries to corner him, he corners Spock instead.

Spock probably could have exerted his freakish Vulcan strength and shoved Kirk off, but his heart evidently isn't into it, so he lets Kirk molest him thoroughly and is the one looking disheveled when the turbolift opens to Deck C. Of course, this time, it's only Bones waiting for them, and Bones just rolls his eyes. Kirk pouts a bit at the unfairness but Spock and Bones are already walking without him, so he squawks his indignation (which is ignored) and hurries to catch up.

The meeting is full of Kirk exchanging significant looks with Spock's crotch and pretending to listen to Ambassador Yeek, who looks a lot like a stalk of broccoli. Finally it's _over_ and Kirk says something about forgetting his PADD although he has a hundred spares and flees back to his room, dragging Spock.

It's just that there's a sign up over Spock in flashing neon red letters that reads "SEX SEX SEX" and it is completely impossible to ignore. He gets Spock inside and shoves him up against the door and kisses him like he hasn't breathed in years and Spock's tongue is oxygen. His hands are about to take a trip south when a stupid horrible terrible little voice in his head says sanctimoniously, "Let's think about this."

He stops at Spock's ribcage. Spock, who has not objected till now, gets a chance to apply his logic, and paws Kirk off of him. Kirk sighs.

"It _is_ better to wait," he finally realizes.

"Of course it is," says Spock, straightening his tunic.

"That's not what you were thinking a few seconds ago," Kirk grumbles.

Spock narrows his eyes in consternation and says nothing, and Kirk laughs, because this _is_ the best part: the tension resting below the surface like a hatchling earthquake; the frantic necking; the close calls. And sure, the act itself is not, by any means, something to trifle with, and the afterglow has the heavenly aura of _totally amazing_.

Right now it's been two months, but nothing has changed. They aren't like batteries that need to be charged with coitus. He still loves Spock and Spock still loves him, and sure, things could be spicier, but sweetness is good too, and when Kirk leans in for a chaste kiss, he thinks as long as he has Spock's flavor at all, he'll be okay.

x

_Please review!_


	17. Haikus

Found this prompt at an LJ community called sga_flashfic. A haiku, if you don't know, is an unrhymed poem in three lines of five, then seven, then five syllables.

Mainly K/S, but some other.

x

**Haikus**

x

**Abandonment Challenge**

A falling sky, and

Reaching hands; eyes like shattered

Marbles. Vulcan, gone.

**Animal Challenge**

"Very large tiger,"

Kirk pants. "Very large. Right be—"

A tabby cat shows.

**Backstory Challenge**

His cold realm consumed

Napoleon, Hitler, and

A dear twin sister.

**Bad Sex Challenge**

"I think," sighed Sulu,

"That you grabbed the dwarf cactus

Instead of my dick."

**Bloody Challenge**

Angry, racist, blunt;

But when Troy burns, the doctor

Is Asclepius.

**Body Modification Challenge**

Nobody guessed that

He had love scrolling down his

Sides, around his thighs.

**Cake or Death Challenge**

"I will have sweets," he

Declared, and replicators

Moved fast to comply.

**[Space] Exploration Challenge**

The vastness here, the

Span; the universe in the

Wide palm of your heart.

**Culture Clash Challenge**

They do not see eye

To eye to such an extent

That she nearly dies.

**Dangling Challenge**

A bone, nothing more,

Dangling from a green-leaved tree.

War; the smoke of it.

**Dark Side Challenge**

Those hands of ice and

Iron. Those hands are honest

And prepared to crush.

**Darkness Challenge**

Diamonds tossed across

The sky, and a tiny ship

Darting like a moth.

**Dating Challenge**

"It's just, that, I—I

Don't usually—" "That's fine,"

He soothed. "Me either."

**Debriefing Challenge**

"We have to know," he

Said gently; a shoulder touch.

"Sulu—what happened?"

**Documentation Challenge**

"Can't be," he mutters.

"I didn't buy these sex toys…"

Galia beams hugely.

**Doppelganger Challenge**

"Captain, he appears

To have more eye makeup than

You—as a rule—wear."

**ESP Challenge**

Sulu did not see

_That_ coming from Kirk's far rooms—

'Till Spock truly did.

**Earthside Challenge**

Toes buried in sand,

A stroke for a pointed ear.

The ocean, in spring.

**Enclosed Spaces Challenge**

The _Galileo_

Is large enough for seven

But not for coitus.

**Exhaustion Challenge**

"There is no more I

Can do," he sobs. "There is," she

Whispers. "Finish it."

**Fight or Flight Challenge**

"Klingons, sir," says the

Helmsman, and the choice Kirk makes

Is no choice at all.

**First Contact Challenge**

Gentle tendrils and

Spiny voices. A grassy

Note: these flowers sing.

**First Night Challenge**

Uhura did not

Expect to find the redhead

Still asleep come morn.

**Folklore and Superstitions Challenge**

Nobody can talk

Spock out of wearing his pink

Boxers on test days.

**Halloween Challenge**

Kirk dressed up as a

Bunny girl, and Bones came as

A very bad nun.

**Harlequin Challenge**

Her bosom heaves! His

Phallus strains! And then the warp

Drive kicks the bucket.

**Left Behind Challenge**

There is good food to

Eat, and water; but he longs

For a human's voice.

**Masks and Masquerade Challenge**

He always covers

His face, leaving the room. _He_

Wishes he would not.

**Men and Machines Challenge**

"Goddamn robots," Kirk

Growls. "Always taking over

My beautiful ship."

**Missing Persons Challenge (+ bonus alliteration)**

They scour the sea,

But sonar is silent. Soon,

They must stagger on.

**Mission Report Challenges**

The tape spins, and, hands

Trembling, he leans front, eyes

Wide with memory.

**Not Happening Challenge**

"Him or them," they hiss.

Kirk laughs. "That's the last time you'll

Ever fuck with me."

**Personal Item Challenge**

The old strings are thin,

Weak, and brittle, but they sing

Sweeter with great age.

**Phone Calls Challenge**

Seconds left, and a

Radio call: "Save yourselves,"

He pleads, "save our ship."

**Post Secret Challenge**

Every year, flowers

Outside Kirk's room. Nobody

Knows they are from Spock.

**Return Challenge**

If you said to Kirk,

"You can go home now," he would

Go kiss Spock's green cheek.

**Scars Challenge**

Raised and pink, jagged

Edged, puckered like lips—_This is_

_So not me,_ she thinks.

**School Challenge**

Four hundred cadets

In scarlet. Four hundred brains

To ready for war.

**Search and Seizure Challenge**

He lost his right to

Gripe when they found the ice cream

Behind the warp drive.

**Secret Superpower Challenge**

"Cape's a bit large," says

Uhura. "But I need it

To hide my big wings."

**Sex Drugs and Rock & Roll Challenge**

Musician Spock twangs

His sad guitar and writes songs

To make Dylan cry.

**Shark Challenge**

"I've always wanted

To say," Kirk says: "We're gonna

Need a bigger boat."

**Sickness Challenge**

Scotty sneezes. Bones

Sends him to bed without his

Lady _Enterprise_.

**Skirt Challenge**

"Miss Spock looks comely

In that uniform," Bones drawls.

Kirk blushes: She _does_.

**Slavefic Challenge**

"Tonight, we rise! No

More toil in the mines! No

More pain, or heartbreak!"

**Song and Dance Challenge**

Hit that string and whack

That beat, call those notes and drink

That Romulan ale.

**Stories About Buildings and Food**

A simple hut, a

Good, hot meal. This is the best

Planet we've yet seen.

**Strange New Worlds and Alien Geographies**

"The natives claim to

Speak to sky unicorns, sir.

…I don't even know."

**Stuck On You Challenge**

Fumbling with ties,

Zippers, belts. So close, so far—

Get that spider off!

**Supernatural Challenge**

Who is there, who? Who

Haunts this empty place? My

Cold and starry tomb…

**Swimming Challenge**

Bones grumbles, but puts

On the swim trunks and wades out

Into the cold bay.

**Villains Challenge**

Mandana always

Smiles. Nero cannot turn

Off the recording.

**Virgin Challenge**

"It wasn't that bad,"

He hedges. She glowers at  
Him and throws on clothes.

**Voyeurism Challenge**

Biting a knuckle,

Kirk watches Uhura take

Spock's _K. Maru _test.

**Ways To Die Challenge**

He expected to

Die (what cadet does not?), but

Not by hippogriff.

**Wordless Challenge**

A moment of peace.

Leaning on the hull of the

_Enterprise_, Kirk sighs.


	18. Pink

**A/N: **K/S. Funny.

x

**Pink**

x

Nobody talked to Kirk about anything but the _Enterprise_ and its business with Starfleet and the Federation for three days, and they were just starting to say simple things like "good morning" and "your hair looks weird today" (Sulu, of course) when Spock finally came out of his quarters, at which point they stopped talking almost entirely.

Finally Kirk asked Bones to have dinner with him. But Bones didn't show up at the right cafeteria, and Kirk had to track him down to the ten-forward, where he witnessed Bones running from the room, and Kirk wasn't willing to use the emergency override to find his CMO, so he laid in wait for Bones outside sickbay for two hours the next day and, when Bones finally came out, dragged him bodily into a supply closet nearby.

"I don't wanna talk about it!" Bones yelled, flailing a lot, and it was lucky for him that Kirk had been first in their class in hand-to-hand combat, because Kirk was the only reason all of the shelves weren't falling down on them.

"Bones!" Kirk hissed, shoving a bottle of coolant back onto a wire rack and deflecting cleaning devices with his elbows. "Calm the fuck down!"

"I'm not listenin'! Lalalalalala!" Bones clapped his hands over his ears and hummed loudly. Kirk snatched a box of spare parts out of the air, saving Bones's left big toe from certain nail-crackage.

"It is your duty as my—Bones!" Kirk yanked Bones's hands off of his ears. "Bones! It is your duty as my best friend—"

"LALALALALAL—"

"I'll tell Gaila about that time with the Klingons and you'll _never_ hear the end of it," hissed Kirk, miffed that he had to waste that excellent piece of blackmail for something like this. Bones shut up, but he glared absolute daggers at Kirk.

"What," Bones snapped.

"Spock's still not speaking to me and you have to help me," whined Kirk. "Nobody else will have sex with me anymore. They're all afraid of him."

"That is not—Jim! Oh my everlovin' lord, this is why… _okay_." Bones put a stern hand on Kirk's shoulder. "Nobody else is talkin' to ya either."

"That's because they think that Spock will kill them for speaking to me, which is not going to happen," said Kirk patiently.

"No, I think that's a pretty realistic fear, actually," said Bones, his eyebrows climbing into his hair. "I mean, his hair is still pink."

"It'll wash out!" Kirk shrieked. "Okay. Yes. Calm." He took a few deep breaths. "Listen. It's been a _week_."

"I think the recovery time for somethin' like this is fifty years," said Bones frankly.

"I am missing out on _so many_ orgasms," said Kirk, leveling his finger at Bones. "Do you even _know_ what the Vulcan refractory period is? _It isn't_. This is a life-and-death matter."

"I agree. Our lives. Your death."

"Argh!" Kirk articulated. "Help! You're my best friend!"

"No, I'm your only friend."

"Hah! You admit that you're my friend!"

"Jim, when it gets bad enough that you need to _trick_ people—"

"Less commentary, more helping, _friend_."

x

During Uhura's birthday party, Kirk convinced Spock to sneak off for a quickie on the bridge, since everybody else was otherwise occupied below decks and also because he had a Thing for the captain's chair. What followed became part of Starfleet informal history. There was a deeply unfortunate incident with the bridge security cameras and the feed switch and the projection screen at the party room, and Kirk honestly didn't know how the hair dye had gotten involved, much less the blow torch. (He blamed Uhura's taste for crème brûlée for that.) The sum of it was that there was video of Spock running shrieking through the corridors with bubblegum pink hair, his uniform (or what was left of it) burning merrily. To make matters worse, he somehow stumbled into the transporter room and ended up in a Deltan council meeting five parsecs away. (Scotty still hadn't figured out the physics for that.)

Nobody would ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, _ever_ dream of using that type of footage against Spock, because they valued their lives. But by the next day everybody on the ship had seen it, and while they weren't about to laugh directly at Spock about it, there was a definite echo of giggling in the corridors.

There were a lot of _worst bits_, but one of them was that two days after the incident, Pike checked in, and Kirk had to tell him a summary of what had happened, which obviously he played down because he, too, valued his life. However, Pike, being human (thus curious) and also being Pike (thus shockingly annoying), somehow squeezed video footage out of somebody, and then _actually talked to Spock about it_.

"I mean, I thought he looked crazy when he was on fire," said Kirk, very quietly, to Uhura, who he'd had to pin to a wall to discuss this with. "I couldn't see the whites in his eyes, his pupils had dilated so big. It was scary!"

"I am going to hurt you," said Uhura slowly, like she was talking to a toddler, "if you do not let me go."

"And then, he actually threw his cup at me! And _missed_! And then I had to fl-URK—"

Uhura had kneed him in the groin. "I don't want to die!" she shouted at him as she ran for the transporter.

Kirk wheezed for the rest of the day and threw spitballs at the back of Uhura's head in the cafeteria because he was basically a child (or at least Bones said). Sulu didn't give any advice at _all_, just stood there and listened to Kirk babbling at him and then said something fully unhelpful and off-topic like "I heard the new Klingon crew member plays bocce ball" or "What's your favorite flavor of ice cream?" which was actually a kind of brilliant approach because Kirk would be silently furious at him and then storm off and then all of Sulu's Kirk-related problems were solved for the day. Kirk didn't bother going to Chekov, who _still_ had not asked Sulu out on a date even though they had awkwardly hooked up pretty much every time there was shore leave, alcohol, or a life-or-death situation. And Scotty wasn't any help either. He simply could not be spared from his sandwiches and engines. Also he was overly willing to talk to Kirk about The Incident and waggled his eyebrows a lot and said things like "feisty Vulcan members" and "och aye, flamin' pantaloons," although Kirk was willing to admit that Scotty's accent was worse when drunk (as in, when anybody was drunk).

Basically Kirk had no friends and it was sad.

"The only advice I have for you, mister, is to buy a Bornian boquet and a really nice bottle of lube and probably some chocolate, too, because that's the only way you're ever going to get any again," said Chapel, who was afraid of no creature, not even Spock. This was over breakfast one morning while she was drinking her eighth cup of coffee, black, and drafting a paper on the nucleotidic asymptotic ramifications of infecting an immature Orion with a .445-cell count variation of Azelgabber's Disease. Kirk, meanwhile, kind of wanted to pick his nose.

That day on the bridge there was yet another incident with the Neutral Zone ("I'll get the paperwork template," said Uhura with a sigh) that required Spock to do Complicated Science to get them out of an equally complicated situation. So Spock said more than eight words in a row to Kirk, which falsely boosted Kirk's perception of their relationship, and later that day Kirk raided the [greenhouse] for a boquet full of Borinan flowers, replicated a bottle of lube, actually went to the single functioning kitchen on the _Enterprise_ and made Spock some truffles, and knocked on Spock's door.

Maybe I should have put on a Kevlar vest, Kirk thought as he waited.

Spock opened the door and stared at the boquet.

"Hi!" said Kirk.

Spock stared at Kirk.

"I brought this and this and this," said Kirk, extending the flowers and the lube and the truffles.

Spock eyed the offerings.

"Also I love you."

Spock got this expression on his face that heavily implied that the feeling was so far from mutual that you could get an excellent mathematical theory of infinity out of the huge distance between their feelings.

"A _lot_."

The theory could win billions of dollars in prize money and change the world.

"And I'm really, really sorry."

Spock blinked. "Are you sure, Jim?"

"Oh my God, yes, I'm so sure," Kirk babbled, totally relieved that Spock had addressed him in a social context. "I'm, like, the surest. I'm so sure I could spit. I would swear on this sureness. This sureness is as important a part of me as is my penis."

Spock blinked again, but this blink was hugely sarcastic, and Kirk stopped talking.

"My hair is no longer pink," Spock acknowledged, and it was much of an "I forgive you" that Kirk was going to get. There were kisses. And the lube got used. And everybody started talking to Kirk again, which was nice, at least until Chekov finally asked Sulu out a few seconds before there was another incident in the Romulan Neutral Zone that the _Enterprise_ had to go deal with and it became really awkward between Chekov and Sulu and somehow Keenser got involved and then Scotty and Bones got everybody drunk and then somebody found Uhura and Chapel making out and told Kirk about it and Kirk told Spock about it during a party but Kirk thought everyone was drunk (because Scotty was present and bearing bottles and Bones was running around with hyposprays; actually Kirk wasn't sure what that was about) but they weren't and everybody heard and then nobody would speak to Kirk anymore, at least until he apologized to Uhura and Chapel and then helped Chekov and Sulu finally start dating, and _Dear god_, thought Kirk as Uhura said (with a laugh in her voice, that bitch), "Admiral Pike on subspace for you, Captain Kirk," _nobody told me that being the captain of a Federation starship was so fucking _ridiculous_._


	19. A Vivid Blossom

**A Vivid Blossom**

x

It was one thing to stand near a man with laser blasts vaporizing rocks all around the two of you, and another to stand near a man facing each other in a quiet room, the sound of breath a vivid blossom.

He spends a lot of time laughing at things that aren't very funny. Uhura's alright now, going around kissing girls again, like everybody should, doesn't give him those glares anymore, or worse, move her eyes past him like he's a pillar or a button to not push. They greet each other in the salad line like teenagers.

Spock was never not alright, on the outside. Spock never treated anybody different.

He, though, he, Kirk, he's still scorched.

When they were on Lupercalia and all those damn lasers were going off, Uhura forgave him over the comlink, a sweet light in his ear. Later he couldn't find any trace of it over the channels. The woman was magic, writing waves like she was the universe itself, getting channels open where they hadn't even existed before. He thought of all of the knowledge in the databases and streaming over the continuum, and her, a spider at the center of an invisible, roaring web. They moved on different frequencies, at times; they collided on Spock's.

It was a dumb thing to do. It was Kirk, though, so nobody was too surprised. He regretted it a lot later, especially when he had to rearrange shifts and reconfigure away teams. That wasn't true: he regretted it the most when she moved around him like he was a ghost.

On Lupercalia, there was a big, thick yellow flower with leaves like hawk's tails, striped and spotted, and a thick fuzzy stem. It grew by the millions in the fields. The Lupercalians ate the flower's bulbs. They gave a stew of it to Kirk when he was there. It tasted a little like mussels had always tasted to him: immediately awful, but if you focused, you could see slantwise what other people liked in it.

In one valley, which was bounded by an old stone wall, the flowers didn't bloom until a certain night, right after moonrise. The trees had been shuddering all night: the Lupercalians were close to war. Kirk wanted to see the blooming, so he dragged Spock out of his tent and across the fields, up around a stream and through a copse of trees. They sat at the lip of the valley, on the stone wall, and watched the moon rise, watched the flowers bloom.

In retrospect, sitting unarmed at the highest point on the no-man's land between the bristling factions was not the smartest decision. Every single member of Starfleet that Kirk communicated with for the next month reminded him of this in no uncertain terms. Even though the bloom had been perfect and wonderful and enchanting and all that, and even though Spock had looked at him with those curiously rounded eyes and said words that didn't exactly mean "I forgive you" but were close enough, it wasn't worth nearly getting their heads blown off their necks by lasers.

But a few months after the Lupercalians had calmed themselves and stopped lobbing missiles at each other, when Kirk and Spock were playing chess in an aft room, Spock said, "The blossoming on Lupercalia _was_ beautiful," and fuck if it hadn't hurt and been awful and he had been mean to Uhura and rude to Spock and dumb around dangerous lasers and deserved every ounce of pain he'd caused anybody, but he was wrong, he was so wrong, and he knew it, and it was worth it.


	20. A Moment For

**A/N: **Taking a break from finishing Enterprise High and also sorting through the really _interesting_ porn dungeon that is the Firefly fandom to write this. General slash/het (Kirk/Spock, Sulu/Chekov, Uhura/Gaila, Bones/Chapel, Scotty/sandwiches). Short, weird, and typical. Also medieval. And a bit fluffy. And a bit sexy. Not much in the way of plot.

x

**A Moment For**

x

"I think we should all take a moment for," Kirk says.

There's a long stretch of nothing.

"A moment for…?" Uhura prompts him, arms crossed over her chest.

Kirk strokes his chin. "A moment for the Federation," he says, hiking the goblet into the air. "Peace and security. Not to mention paved roads. Cheers."

Spock comes as close to rolling his eyes as he ever will. Everybody drinks.

"We should go soon," says Sulu. He doesn't look like he can go anywhere soon, not with Chekov wrapped around him like that. Uhura, glancing over, is not immediately convinced they're decent. Spock, again, comes dangerously close to having an expression.

"We should," Kirk agrees sadly.

Gaila is pretty sad about this. She's really in to fantasy books, and to her mind, this looks exactly like a lord's keep ought. There are high stone walls illuminated by flickering torches, a dias for the nobility, massive piles of roasted pig, jugs of mead, cauldrons of stew, and platters of fruit. And everybody is in period get-up. Uhura is comely in a high lady's gown. Kirk is sprawling in a jester's uniform. Bones is stiff in a lord's armor.

And her favorite part is her own outfit. Serving wench through-and-through.

Scotty, obviously, has contrived to find mayonnaise in what equates roughly to twelfth century France and has almost finished constructing a roast beef sandwich. "We can't go yet!" he protests. "Ah haven't found th' right cheese!"

"Munester?" Chekov offers.

"_Munester_?" Scotty gasps, horrified. "W' _roast beef_? Lord!" He pauses. "Alright, ah'll try it. Pass that plate over, lad."

"Weirdest planet I've been on in a while," Uhura mutters to Gaila. "You sent the readings to the databanks, right?"

"Oh yeah, an hour ago," says Gaila, adjusting her breasts. They have to be _just so _in a dress like this. She looks up to find Uhura staring.

"Best planet, though," Uhura adds.

"Captain," says Spock, taking Kirk oh-so-delicately by the arm and lifting him easily to a standing position. "Shall we depart?"

"Oh, if you say," says Kirk sadly. "Do you think they're on their way back?"

"Undoubtedly," says Spock, nostrils flaring. "We do not want to break the Prime Directive." He pauses for a bit of an eyebrow twitch. "Any more than we already have."

"Ah, we're fine," says Kirk, shoving Spock away. Spock can smell the alcohol on Kirk's breath. "Now, I'm not saying this was a good idea, but it was fun."

Spock glares at Kirk for a surprisingly long time. "Yes," he says finally, relaxing his tight fists. "It was fun." It almost hurts to say it. But not quite.

It had been Chekov's idea. The shore leave planet was actually part native—the other continent from the one Starfleet crews holidayed on was inhabited by ocean-fearing medievalists who jousted and sewed tapestries, crusaded and mulled mead. Chekov had said, "Well, we should _go_ there! We haf a shuttle, we can leaf before they see us."

They have brought their own food and their own clothes. They have simply claimed the castle for a bit. It is all incredibly irresponsible. It is all absolutely against the law. Spock had nearly had an aneurism when it'd been first suggested.

And of course it has been wonderful fun.

"A moment for," Gaila says, rising her goblet, "this castle."

"Aye!" calls Scotty.

"And a moment for my crew," Gaila says, wrapping her arm around Uhura's waist. Uhura lets out this bubble of a giggle, light on mead, and tips her goblet against Gaila's. Chapel, sprawled across a table in front of Bones, headbutts him because she dropped her goblet on the floor ages ago. Bones lets out a guffaw, smacks her on the ass, and pecks her cheek.

"Leaving now," says Kirk. He produces a remote out of somewhere and the android they liberated from the shore leave headquarters pops out of a nook and starts cleaning everything up. Scotty hastily shoves his sandwich into a napkin and tucks it in his pocket. Gaila has a tug-of-war battle with the android until it lets her finish her goblet of mead.

They scurry outside and cram themselves into the shuttle. Federation shuttles are only meant to hold seven, so nine plus an android isn't ideal—or it wouldn't be if everybody wasn't sitting on everybody else's lap (Scotty pulls the android onto him with a chortle). Sulu and Spock are doing their best to pilot, but Chekov and Kirk, the devious men they are, are giving them other ideas. "We shall crash," Spock warns, dire, as Kirk nuzzles his neck. He tries to ignore the goosebumps that spread right down his back, and the twinge low in his belly. Kirk laughs gently in his ear, and it's like his skin is on fire.

Bones and Chapel are leaning over the life signs monitor, reading the feeds. They're good at focusing in distracting situations. Chapel loves the way Bones's shoulders look in the armor. It's fake plate, more like puffed-up plastic, but it clangs real, bless the replicators. She runs her fingers down his back and he can't feel it. She half likes it—she can touch him intimately, observantly, without him knowing. But she half hates it. That touch generally makes him squirm. She sticks her hand where the armor isn't and is rewarded with an undignified twitch. "Woman," Bones growls, flipping the life signs monitor shut. "I'm workin' here."

"As am I," says Chapel, giving her fingers a twist. Bones lets out a little noise. There isn't much room in the aisle, but it's enough.

Gaila and Uhura are supposed to be making sure the android has safely stowed their picnic, but they got a little distracted. Uhura fully approves of Gaila's dress. "So modest," she murmurs into Gaila's green bosom. "So unlike you, Gaila, dear."

"I am nothing," gasps Gaila, understandably distracted by Uhura's exploratory fingers, "if not m-modest. _Ah_."

"I do not like these laces, though," says Uhura, a purse on her lips as she sits back to survey them.

"I can get that for you—_oh—_here let me," Gaila burbles, hands flying.

It's quite a miracle they land in one piece. Well, not really; autopilot was on the whole time, so it's okay that Sulu is _so_ not paying attention during landing.

"Let's have a moment for that picnic," Uhura calls as the door slides open. Gaila is passed out on the seat next to her. She only sees the tops of everybody else's heads.

"Other people are havin' moments of their own," Bones offers. "Good thought, though."

"Ah will see you lot later," Scotty laughs, tugging the android out the door. "Me and my lady need a reunion." He heads off towards the _Enterprise. _Kirk laughs from the front.

"It's good I'm not a jealous man," he comments to Spock, who is fixing his hair in the shiny control panel.

"Quite," murmurs Spock, obviously not paying attention. Kirk solves that problem. He pulls Spock down from the shuttle, murmuring a farewell to everyone else, and they go back to their rooms.

By morning the shuttle is empty but for some alarming stains that the bots take care of. Everybody shows up at breakfast pink-cheeked and a little achy. There's a moment when they're all sitting, just before they about to eat, that they share one big glance; and then the moment passes and they dig into their toast and tea and breakfast tacos.

"Good shore leave," comments Gaila.

Spock says, "I am inclined to agree."

They'll drink to that.


End file.
